Sisters of Light and Dark
by Late to the Party
Summary: Two elves, one dark, one fair. Sendai and Illasera, denizens of Candlekeep. But what will she do without an onyx ring to twist? And more importantly, where's Imoen and who is Charname? AU.
1. Sisters of Light and Dark

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the names, characters, setting contained within. Bioware/Black Isle/Interplay does. (Except Valaris - he's mine)

I

Sendai worshiped knowledge. The name the monks gave it was 'Oghma'; others called it 'Deneir'. Gods: the personified facets of powers greater than she. Magic was her passion, learning her love. The intricacies of rite were a language of their own; tomes were a means of recital and record, and practical knowledge a wisdom of its own. Sciences, mathematics, the mysteries… these were what made life worth living. Generally, the monks agreed with her pursuit of knowledge; her sister did not.

Illasera favoured more martial pursuits. The less noble arts of dicing and cards were by-products of barrack life. The guards called them, jokingly regarding them as 'night' and 'day'; no one dared dub them 'Shar' and 'Selûne' though; some blasphemies went too far.

From the offset, it was clear they were no ordinary elves. For one, despite Sendai's obsidian skin and bloodstone eyes, she lacked the temperament of her dark brethren; sitting in the library, she was an isle of tranquillity amongst a sea of open tomes. In the open air, she walked through the sunlight unblinking. Coarse language did not become her; taunts and jeers she ignored. Little fazed her.

By contrast, Illasera was fair, more weathered than snow, and her sea-green eyes were fiery. In some light, her gaze appeared blue, but no matter the hue, it was always fierce. Head high and proud, she strode with confidence, a tigress prowling through the grounds. Almost haughty, she disdained the staff for the knife; scarily adept at both, her dexterity knew no equal and hers was the flashing, spinning steel, flung or flourished for no other purpose than training. Despite that, both held their own counsel, though words were often exchanged, heated against calm.

Generally, it was agreed that the gods had erred, and somehow switched the sisters' souls.

Candlekeep was their haven, their home. A fortress and bastion of knowledge, it was a sanctuary for few; many could not afford it. A tome of immense value was demanded for entry, and the monks had their own community. There were ways and means inside; the monks retained servants, and the grounds a tavern. The shrines dedicated to Oghma occasionally required acolytes, and then there were the guards.

An able individual could scale the walls, Illasera scathingly pointed out, and evade the patrols. The Gatewarden's response had been to double the watch. Never popular to begin with, Illasera's repute plummeted and several chose to take it out in sparring. Few overcame her and she took it as a personal challenge to best all on the field. Grudgingly, she won their respect, not that it mattered to her. What others thought never did.

Since the Iron Crisis, the 'Keep was locked up tighter than usual. Crossbows that saw little use beyond the habitual loose at immobile targets, made a more regular appearance, though as with the sparring, practice remained casual. Few bandits dare venture near the walls. In Candlekeep, a warden's life was a lark, Winthrop the innkeep often commented, but they took his watered ale all the same.

Sendai often wondered about going back.


	2. Nashkel

II

Nashkel was a town in celebration. The liberation of its mines at the hand of two maids, one drow, one elf, was met in equal parts astonishment and equal parts jubilation. Finally, they were free of the tyranny; the shadowy hand of fear. Now they laughed that mere kobolds had frightened them so; laughter was the only response to such humiliation. Laughter, and anger. Anger at the half orc who orchestrated this. The whole town assembled to watch him burn; the pyre roared high, and as his tormented screams reached their zenith, the cheers drowned out the rest.

Sickened, Sendai turned away from the spectacle. The helmite priest had been the one to light the kindling; now in the tavern, the lewder peasants re-enacted Mulahey's gurgles. Sendai noted it was only the men who imitated the half orc's bulging eyes and pleas for mercy. Pleas, Illasera remarked acidly, that had not spared the townsfolk's children. Kobold arrows did not discriminate.

Saddened, Sendai did not reply, but her eyes were enough to let her sister know how much of a mistake it was to bludgeon the half orc from behind. Illasera's lips set in a thin line; Sendai acknowledged the disapproval with the slightest tilt of her head. Had she allowed the elf to end him the way she ought, this never would have happened. What had she expected? A sharp drop from a short rope? She hadn't an answer.

Gorion's death changed everything. Illasera quit the keep to join them; despite their differences, and the elven girl's frequent clashes with Gorion, they were inseparable. As fond of Gorion as she was of her, Illasera's decision demonstrated the fierce loyalty she had come to rely on.

Scorning the guards' armour for lighter chain and quilted gambeson, Illasera moved with easy grace, her daggers parrying and striking almost contemptibly. More than one bandit learned this to his cost. The sole female bandit had died with her throat opened. Illasera was from the school of thought that foes should not be left to rise – in life or unlife. Gorion's murder hardened her, and where once she would have been content to allow bandits to flee, her bow fell those her knives did not.

Now they hunted the armoured figure that had done this. Plagued by visions of his huge, sweeping sword, they tranced, as all elves did, in turn, the other watching over her sister. More than once, she had awoken gasping; Illasera returned with a silent snarl. Each dawn, Illasera swore vengeance. Invoking any god that cared to listen not for aid, but as witness, the fair skinned elf knew no peace. In truth, neither did Sendai. Questions, so many questions, arose, but her heart held only anguish and grief; in this, she was one with her sister. Mutually they drew strength; her calm, Illasera's fury.

Sendai committed Mulahey's name to memory; the half orc served another. Illasera discarded it as merely a footnote.

The fourth bounty hunter struck them on the night of Nashkel's liberation. While the town was in the throes of revelry, many deep in their cups, she approached with a smile. Away from the merriment, the sisters stood under a great tree, a few moments peace from the gaggle of admirers. Neira, she called herself. Names had no use for the dead, Illasera commented after, spitting the poisoned ale over the corpse. Sadly, Sendai wondered how many more would come for them, and who, if any, they could trust.

"Have no pity for fools," Illasera told her in no uncertain terms, a sneer twisting at her lips, for once grateful of her magic. Both had some awareness of herblore, but it only extended to the more common plants of the region. Phlydia's knowledge of the subject had not extended far. Not for the first time, Sendai missed the old mage and her sayings.

Neira was discovered the next day, and it was assumed that she had not noticed the creeper's leaves had fallen into her jug. A tragedy, but a stranger was mourned little. No one knew the bounty notice Illasera removed and burned. No one ever connected the pair with the hunter. Oublek, the town's coordinator of bounty hunters, identified Neira and exclaimed his regret over the loss of life but few listened.

The gaggle of admirers soon broke. When they saw the sisters were not interested, most left disappointed; some were hauled in by cross parents and aunts, and others persisted. Most were rebuked by Illasera's chill, unblinking stare, and soul-piercing silence. Sendai, by contrast, smiled slightly, in polite but firm refusal. Those that believed it a challenge shrank back when the pair visited the infirmary. Their object, a captive of Mulahey, had wasted away for months, chained to a rocky wall. The sight of the meagre elf shook their unwanted cortège sufficiently enough for it to melt away.

"He will recover," Nalin the helmite confirmed, "but not today." After a moment, the priest added, "He has yet to speak."

Sendai inclined her head; Illasera did not. Neither eyed the blade at the elf's side; before he had collapsed, he rasped for it. As soon as his hand closed around the grip, fatigue overcame him. Both sisters recognised the sword: a moonblade. Despite its rarity and the status it marked the man with, neither felt the need to comment.

"I… am in… your debt."

The elf's lips moved but his eyes remained closed. Seconds later, he was out. Nalin glanced from one to the other; the sisters matched looks, then Illasera walked out.

"Our thanks," Sendai added; Nalin bowed his head, and then she joined her sister.

Rather than face Ghastkill, the mayor, whose bright eyes promised speeches and grateful words, the two headed towards Nashkel's fair. A travelling trope, its popularity had waned until today. The liberation of the mines caused a resurgence and the grounds were overrun. Laughter, a rare sound, filled the air in abundance and not even the hangovers of their parents could dampen their children's spirits. The weather was glorious.

Her claim of weariness only marginally appeased Ghastkill; their abstinence of revelry was put down to elf aloofness, until Sendai gently explained that her sister had taken several arrows and needed seeing to. The town's stance immediately shifted, and apologetic sympathy followed; they were grateful just to catch a glimpse of their heroes. They still could not believe that two maids had penetrated the mines' depths; it would only be a matter of time before the whispers started questioning if perhaps they were agents in league with Mulahey and were sent to execute him for some diabolical reason…

It was not for joy or out of fear the sisters walked among the tents. The night before, Sendai cautioned against haste; impatiently, Illasera demanded they sought Mulahey's benefactor before word reached him of their victory. She did not trust Nalin to contact 'Keldath Ormlyr' at the Song of the Morning Temple. Lathander was not Helm, she argued, and Beregost's authorities would not regard them in the same light as Nashkel's.

Even so, Sendai was not prepared to leave just yet. The roads were still plagued with bandits, and the Flaming Fist's patrols only extended an hour south of Beregost. This time, Illasera might beat down the 'fool' that dared accuse her of 'consorting with drow' and 'banditry'. The towns, both Nashkel and Beregost, had ill taken to having a drow in their midst; even cowled, they greeted her with icy stares. Three innkeepers had refused to let them stay; a dwarf tried to split her skull open after swinging for her kneecaps. He was the third bounty hunter.

"Our welcome will wear thin," Illasera threatened, casting a contemptuous eye over the cluster of hovels, "and they'll forget their gratitude within a tenday."

"We need to speak to him."

"Then cast your magicks."

Sendai shook her head; she would let the healers do their job. Frustrated, Illasera marched on ahead. Wordlessly, her sister followed.

The trouble started shortly after that.


	3. Nashkel Fair

III

"Oopah, the Exploding Ogre!" A garishly-dressed man called out, "Right this way! Witness his amazing–"

Illasera walked on.

"Jerky! Beef jerky!" A hawker called.

Sendai smiled and shook her head.

"Hey, you're the heroes that saved the mines!" A little girl exclaimed, eyes wide, "I want to be just like you when I grow up!"

The drow's response was drowned out by another garishly dressed man.

"Visit the Great Gazib and Oopah the Exploding Ogre!"

"Did you see the circus tent yet?" The girl persisted, "they've got _lions_ there! And snakes! Bigger than you!"

"No, we've not yet."

"You must–"

Her mother, presumably, called her back. The girl sighed, and made a face. Then she waved and ran off. Sendai watched with a smile.

Illasera didn't comment, but her flat look spoke volumes.

Sendai glanced sidelong at her, her smile turning sly and amused. Her sister grunted lowly; Sendai chuckled. It was the closest to 'shall we?' she would offer.

The two stepped inside.

"Behold! The great Kalah!"

The magic fizzled. Aided by ale, the laughter was raucous. The great Kalah stamped his gnomish foot, resulted in a further gale of laughter. The announcer, looking amused, called out, "And now for the Illusionist Quayle!"

"No! The show is mine!" Kalah screamed to the crowd's roar, pulling out a beaten lamp. "I am the lead! Me!"

Quayle stepped up onto the dais; a slightly shorter, aging gnome with a long white beard and spectacles, he bowed with practiced showmanship. Like Kalah, he was dressed in ridiculously bright robes, his purple to Kalah's yellow.

"Apprentice–" Quayle chided as part of the act, "the incantation says–"

He never finished. The gnomish double act evaporated as the world exploded.

In place of a circus tent stood an immense marble colosseum. Towering above the clouds, its walls formed a perfect circle. The crowd, frozen in stone, ringed the pit's wall. At the podium's stand, Kalah gazed down, now resplendent and his body that of Oopah's; his face remained the same.

From the entrance, Sendai and Illasera escaped the blast, but found themselves facing the sands.

"You!" Kalah bellowed, "heroes! Champions of Nashkel; come to mock me? Well, you shall face _my_ champions! Behold Uharas the Snake! Kat the Lioness!" He turned to a puddle of green ooze at his side, "There, pitiful Quayle, witness the might of my magic! It is greater than yours!"

In front and to his right, a scantily dressed woman announced, "First round…" She gazed adoringly at him, "What is your ruling, master?"

"Hmm… swords!"

Illasera and Sendai exchanged looks; the former's warned against negotiation.

"You can't!" a caged …wolf… called to him, "please!"

"Be silent, my beast! You shall watch! Yes! You will watch, and then you shall fight!" Kalah waved his hand, and two monstrous animals appeared; Illasera did not wait, she reacted. Her compound bow, the length of a man's arm, sang. Caring as little for the crossbow as the staff, she put two arrows through the snake before the mist had cleared.

Kalah roared with both delight and fury. The crowd were silent. Sendai began chanting. Dropping the bow, Illasera ran towards the lioness; both animals were mockeries, mutated beyond twice their normal size. As the elf ran, she drew twin daggers from her vambraces and jumped. The lioness, not expecting this, momentarily wavered; Illasera jumped. Before Sendai could finish casting, the daggers pierced the lioness' eyes. Falling back, Illasera pulled two more knives from her belt and flicked towards the throat as Kat reared. The blades arced, slicing. The chant ceased and lightning flashed, blackening the beast to dust; then it jumped towards Kalah; it broke across a wall of blue that wasn't there before.

"Oh, my beasts, you are very bad!" The gnome-ogre laughed, then bellowed, "How dare you try to assault the Great Kalah! I was going to make you suffer, but now you will pay! A dragon! Yes! Nimbul, I call you forth!"

Mist formed; as it faded, a dragon, whose skin was shadow, stood in its place, eyes deadened.

"Destroy them! Crunch them, my pet!"

"How sad," Illasera taunted.

"What?"

"How sad that you must summon _beasts_ to prove your manhood, little gnome."

"I am the Great Kalah! How dare you address me! I will _kill_ you!"

"You're pathetic."

Kalah began chanting.

Sendai sighed under her breath.

The dragon stepped forwards. Above them, clouds gathered and lightning struck the sands. Blinding white, the roar was deafening; the after-haze danced around their vision. The smell of burnt glass; the dizziness, Kalah's mocking voice, "My lightning! There, my pets, awaken! Witness the majesty of Kalah!"

The statues came alive.

"Now tear each other apart!"

Weapons appeared in their hands. Swords, axes, halberds. Chains, whips, knives.

Whispered syllables, and both sisters disappeared.

"What? This is _my_ realm! Reveal yourselves!"

"How sporting." Quayle commented.

"Yes – you are right… Very well, hide away, my pets; see how long you last! Nimbul! Attack!"

The townsfolk jumped into the arena.

The wolf howled.

"Don't you like this, my beast?" Kahal turned to the wolf.

"P-please, don't do this; there are c-children…" Desperately, the wolf pleaded.

"Ah, little traitors. Well, they shall pay too!"

"You _can't_!"

"No! Everyone dies! You! Quayle! The elves! Nimbul! Everyone!"

"Y-you're mad!"

"Silence!"

Shadow met stone. The dragon raked the statues; the statues fought each other. Five of them closed in on Sendai. A sphere sprung up around her, flaring gold when a spear lanced it. Nothing got through. Eyes closed, the drow continued to chant. More lightning struck the sands.

Illasera scaled the podium. The caged wolf caught her eye, and taunted, "If you were all p-powerful–!"

"Yes?" Kalah turned his back on the arena; Illasera's dagger pierced the scantily clad woman's throat before she could cry out a warning. She evaporated into black mist.

"Th-then you wou-wouldn't need to kill."

Kalah considered this. "They kill because I command it."

"Bu-but they don't _worship_ you." The wolf tried its best to smile, "Su-surely you deserve that."

"Yes! The Great Kalah is a god."

"The vase," hissed the ooze, "break it!"

Illasera who was preparing to end Kalah froze. Then she lunged for the vase. Chest high, it was one of two standing against the columns supporting the podium's roof. As it shattered, Kalah spun around. "You!" His teeth were as long as her fingers, "Deceitful!" he laughed at the wolf, and threw lightning towards Illasera. Diving to the side, she flung her knife. Behind her, smoke wafted, the acrid scent of scorched stone. Shards shredded her gambeson and stuck in her mail. She did not glance over her shoulder; had she, Sendai observed as she cast, halting the oncoming statues, she would have seen melted marble.

Laughing, Kalah leapt towards his prey; Illasera's knife impaled his hand. The ogre-gnome howled in rage. The elf dove for second vase shoulder-first. Her weight cracked it. Crashing to the floor with it, her hands came around a lamp.

Kalah screamed, this time fearfully. Throwing his marble throne at her, she flung a knife with one hand and smashed the lamp against the floor with the other. The world evaporated.

With the lifting of the white mist, the dying rasps of the gnome filled the room. Around him, the panicked townsfolk fled from the tent in all directions. Children were screaming and crying; some were snatched up, others caught in the stampede.

Illasera picked herself up, silently checking herself over; there were no shards to pick from her mail and her gambeson was no longer shredded. Over the din, Sendai called for calm; no one heeded her. Her chant froze the stampede from crushing a small boy.

"Enough!" She called, "Kalah is dead."

The mob began to calm.

"I-it was all an illusion?"

"Yes Aerie…" Quayle sighed, brushing himself down.

The wolf became an elf, then screamed, "Uncle!" She ran to the fallen gnome's side, "N-no!"

"I – I'm sorry…" the gnome breathed his last.

"How?" Tears blinding her, Aerie cradled him, "How?"

Burying her face against him, she wept. Moments later, she felt Sendai's hand on her shoulder. "We should go," the drow told her gently, while Illasera stood watch.

"Go?" Aerie demanded, staring up at her, "Y-you caused this!"

"Away from here," Sympathetically, Sendai ignored her retort, "outside. There's a temple in town–"

Aerie was shaking her head, "N-no."

Momentary confusion coloured her blood-red eyes.

"I-it costs too much." The frail elf drew herself up shakily, "A… a person's never the same. He – he told me so." She stared at Kalah, then back at the drow, "I – I'm sorry. It – it was him. Y-you saved us."

Sendai was kinder than to ask why this had happened. Illasera tossed the cracked lamp to her. Catching it one-handed, the drow's lips thinned in understanding. She didn't ask how it had come into Kalah's possession, but simply put it in her satchel. It could be dealt with… later. Right now, there was the elf to deal with.

Anguish gripped her. Guilt washed over her. She still gripped the dead gnome's hand. With the illusion's unravelling, their former clothes returned.

"We're sorry for your loss," Sendai told her with gentle sincerity. Illasera said nothing.

Aerie nodded.

A moment later, the scrawny elf's fists balled, "He took everything from me!" She glared at Kalah's corpse, "such a horrid little – thank you," eyes shining, she turned to Illasera, "thank you."

Illasera inclined her head the slightest fraction. That her life had almost been snatched away was not something she would show, any more than surprise; both were weakness. "He was waiting for us," she commented to her sister.

Sendai nodded slowly, then gaze Aerie's shoulder one more squeeze. Their eyes met, and then she turned. Illasera had already begun walking towards the door. There would be hell to pay for this, and another fawning speech from the mayor, expressing his shock and gratitude. A younger girl would grit her teeth, but Illasera exercised self-control as others wagged their tongues.

"Y-you're leaving?" Startled, Aerie stared after the elf, then fixed on the drow.

"Someone has to report this," Sendai explained softly, "and someone has to check on the wounded."

"I – I can help." Setting her chin, Aerie matched looks, then drooped, "Quayle – Quayle was all I had…"

"You're a healer?"

She nodded.

"Then check on the children. Some of them will be lost and looking for their parents. Most will be scared and unsure of what happened." Confirming her words, the noise outside reached their ears.

"Sister," Illasera called, "You'll want to see this."

Talented in the art of understatement and word-fasting, Illasera once referred to a storm as 'nature's nuisance', and now a riot as a 'disturbance'.

Straightening her robes, Sendai held back a sigh and moved towards the entrance. After a heartbeat's hesitation, Aerie joined her.


	4. The Mob

IV

A torrent of voices met her. The townsfolk were amassed, angry and afraid. Many clutched their children close; the circus folk had retreated, trying to hold back the mob.

"My boy got his arm broke!"

"My da was almost killed!"

"You call this fun?"

"Yeah! We came here, pay good coin–"

"It was all Kalah!"

"He was one of yours!"

"He turned on us too–"

"Enough excuses – get them!"

Lightning flashed. The crowd stopped dead, many throwing themselves down. Mothers covered their children; some husbands shielded their wives, others fled. The memory of Kalah's storm was all too real.

"Kalah is dead," Sendai told them calmly, as if she had never shot lightning, "the circus is not to blame, nor are you. A spell went horribly wrong and it sent the gnome mad, merging him with a monster." The drow paused, "You are safe, all of you. Bring your wounded to the temple."

"You saved us?" One of the circus folk gaped.

"Kalah's wrath is a-at an end." Aerie confirmed with a confident nod.

"They're the heroes of Nashkel," the little girl piped up; Sendai picked her out in the crowd, her smile fading when she saw the bloodied bruise over her eyebrow. Quiet anger held her.

"Disperse." She ordered, just able to keep her voice from shaking, "and fetch Mayor Ghastkill."

There were several mutters, but general assent. As the crowd parted, the drow sought out the girl, and before her mother could object, muttered and blue-white light appeared over the child's brow. She was rewarded by a flying hug; she didn't quite grunt. Nearby, Aerie smiled; Illasera remained silent, staring down anyone who dared to look in their direction.

—

As soon as daily life resumed, the circus prudently beginning to pack up, Aerie commented, "T-that was kind."

Sendai looked towards the circus folk.

"They don't bury their dead," Illasera lapsed laconically.

"I-it's… ca-can you blame them?"

Illasera's look affirmed she could and did.

"You called him 'uncle'?" Sendai turned to her.

"Y-yes. A-after…" Aerie swallowed, "m-my wings… he – he took me in. Th-they… th-the circus bought me from slavers."

"Slavery's illegal in the north," Illasera commented, then looked pointedly at the elf.

Aerie set her chin, "An-and where shall I go?"

"Home," Sendai suggested infinitely gently.

Tears filled her eyes, "I – I can't."

"Avariel only accept their own if whole?"

Grateful and hurting, she nodded.

"There was another elf in the mines."

Aerie's face filled with horror.

"He was held there for months."

"That's horrible!"

"He has information we need," Illasera cut in, ignoring Sendai's sharp look.

"What she means is–"

"Exactly what I said. Heal him. My sister will say that spending time in elven company will be good for you, but thanks to your little Kalah, the priests will be busy. You owe us."

"Illasera!"

"Sh-she's right…" Aerie lowered her eyes, then looked up determinedly, "but you don't need to be so – so mean!"

The elf walked away.

Sendai sighed.

"Wh-why did she say that?"

"We've lost someone too." She answered simply, then smiled wanly, "This brought it back for her."

"O-oh." Aerie swallowed, "I – I'm sorry."

Her smile tightened, "It never goes away."

Aerie's eyes filled.

Sendai followed Illasera.

—

"And I'm mean?" Illasera chuckled mirthlessly, "'Deal with it.'"

"That's not what I said." Sendai's lips pursed.

"She'll learn." Her voice lowered, hardening, "The mayor."

Sendai greeted him without comment. Mayor Ghastkill was a well-rounded, aging man. Tired bags around his eyes betrayed too many nights lost to worry and the toll this latest episode had taken. Out of all the townsfolk, he alone was unbothered by the drow's presence. Even Nalin was uncomfortable, though the helmite would never admit to it.

"A morning's span and the world goes to the hells."

"It's been dealt with."

"I owe you my thanks again," tiredly, the mayor rubbed his temple. Once black, now greying, hair fell to his shoulders, and a stained crimson tunic suggested his head throbbed as much as many of the other townsmen. "Though if you're seeking coin…"

"You gave us little enough last time," Illasera cut in, "have you done as we asked yet?"

"Aye, aye, no messengers have been sent, a guard escort is being readied…"

Sendai shot her sister another dark look; there was no call to be rude. "What we have is sufficient enough. Your hospitality is more than generous."

"It is us who thanks you, m'lady." Ghastkill glanced at the circus; the tents were being loaded onto wagons. "Can't say I blame 'em. What happened?"

"A spell went awry."

"Hmm. Tricky thing, magic." Ghastkill allowed knowingly, "Still, no one was killed." He eyed Illasera, "We've no horses I'm afraid, only draught ponies. No much call for them down here."

Less than impressed, she fixed her best stare on him.

"We're grateful for your efforts."

"And we for yours."

"If you're men are ready, we'll depart after lunch."

"Uh… I'm not sure how to say this, but…"

Sendai waited.

"Well, some folk… they think you should take care of yourselves, what with you clearing the mines and all…"

"You mean they're scared," Illasera sneered, "You can't give us horses, you give us scant coin, and now this?"

"Sister…"

"We don't need them; they'll only slow us down."

"They're scared." Firmly, Sendai addressed the elf. "It's natural."

"Cowards."

The mayor cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed.

"Thank you, mayor. Whatever you can lend us will be sufficient. I'm sure Nalin will appreciate his message being delivered to Mayor Ormlyr."

"You'll take it?" Surprise coloured the man.

"We're going that way."

"In that case…"

"Just as far as the Flaming Fist patrols. Two days."

He nodded, then excused himself.

"So we're leaving after all."

"Aerie will meet us in Beregost."

"If she survives the roads."


	5. Another Lifetime, Same Destiny

V

The moonblade flared crimson.

"What have you done?" hissed the elder elf, shock entering his eyes for the first time in two centuries. His own, a rapier, lacked the searing flames his protégé's blade held.

"I learnt a new dance, master. I call it 'shadowsong'."

Matching stares, one lightest blue the other granite green, the two squared off. Silvery-sea green mail clad the elder; black leathers and chain the younger. Their steel met; enchantment discharged, raw, furious. Shockwave broke against shield; the dance continued. The low resonance built, the swords' hum rising.

"Why? I gave you everything–"

"For a hundred years I listened to your lies," fire gathered around the younger's gloved fist, arcing along the moonblade, "bought into your drivel while all around us our people are being pushed back. I stood by and watched, defending, never attacking. And you know what I learnt?"

"It is our way! Peace–"

"You are wrong!"

The swords met again, the elder blade crackling against the flaming. Lightning broke in all directions; there shield held.

"Too afraid to strike; come now, master, stop deflecting and _attack me!_" The moonblade cut a crescent, arcing around. The terrible sweep shattered the defensive lines, bleeding the magic. All the while, its crimson glow increased. The master was on the backfoot. Graceful, elegant, the master's rapier flicked, catching each strike, parrying each lunge. Both exercised the same economy of movement, both enjoined the same dance. Muscle, not thought, directed their steps, countless years of repetition rising to the fore. The younger had lived for this day for over three decades.

"Your newfound way will not save you–"

"You cannot tire me, old man; my eyes learned what your words held back."

"It is not my intent–"

"'Balance'," he scathingly cited back at him, "where is the balance in guarding? I'll show you _balance_." An overhead cut; a riposte, cross-cut, counter-sweep, parry, lunge. The moonblade cracked against the master's armour, severing the mithril links; first blood was drawn at the shoulder.

"I found a new master, a true warrior."

"Shadow dancer," the old elf snarled, "you dishonour my family's blade–"

"Acolyte, yes," the mirthless smile was without warmth, tight-lipped and cruel, "but the shadowstep cannot do this!" The moonblade flared, and as the rapier rose to deflect it, it sheered through steel and continued, severing flesh, bone and sinew. The glistening sea green chain was as paper. Drowning out his master's cry, he spun and knocked the old elf back with a vicious kick, "She calls herself a 'kensai', and I have studied her art and made it my own."

Devoid of hand and weapon alike, the elder focused through the pain and gathered his magic. "I should never have trained you–"

"You should never have lied to me."

Magic erupted, detonating; spherical gold shimmered around one, crimson globe around the other. The blast radius surrounding them devastated the vegetation. The forest would take decades to recover.

A ray of bloody red shot from the younger's outstretched hand; the gold held… momentarily. "I will drain you, as I siphon your power," he taunted, "and then I will consume you."

"This is no elven–"

"Oh, but it is. My master is_ Ar-tel-quessir_." The smile returned, "And more. Blood of the Maurezhi, soul feeder."

"Fey-ri!"

"You would keep my true nature from me; conceal my destiny! For that, you will witness what my master has taught me: this blade, this symbol has become my banner. Be proud, old man, you shall live on – I have mastered what generations have failed: this relic answers only to me. Come, _soulbinder_, bind this fool as you would seek to soulbind me."

"_What have you done?_"

"The same fate you reduced me to!"

"I sought to _save_ you–"

"You would take my destiny from me! Trap my soul within a sword? You who named me? My _father_? It is _you_ who are the traitor! You will serve me; bow before your lord, and beg forgiveness! I shall make our people strong again, and forge an empire greater than any other. My disciples are legion, my apprentices eldarin and fey-ri alike. One master, one apprentice? Fools; it is your arrogance that has weakened our people; I shall begin by destroying our foes and then The People shall join me or join the dead. I am Valaris Aurasun, Avatar of Murder!"

The moonblade sheered through throat and shield alike.

His master's was the first non-wielder to be bound. His screams echoed through the pommel, joining the bladesong.

That day, Valaris chose a new name for his profession. No longer was he a bladesinger; he was a deathsinger.

It was time to meet with Amelyssan and take his place amongst The Five.


	6. Beregost

VI

"Deal with it." Illasera retorted.

"But a Drow–"

"Anyone touching my sister crosses me."

The Flaming Fist was not impressed.

Sendai laid a quietening hand on the fair elf's shoulder, "I am here with news from Mayor Ghastkill of Nashkel, and Nalin the Helmite."

"Hand over your message."

Before Illasera could interrupt, the drow continued calmly, "It is for Mayor Ormlyr's ears alone."

"Where is your Amnish escort?"

"This is absurd," Illasera snarled, "Get out of my way."

"Illasera!"

"Listen to your 'sister', elf," the guard taunted, "lest I haul you in for–"

"Where is your superior?" Sendai's calm never wavered, but her tone took on a harder edge that was not there a moment ago.

"You can't threaten me, drow–"

"You detain us unlawfully, and impede vital news – now tell me, where is your commander?"

"I am within my rights–"

"By the gods," Illasera swore, "_humans_," she cursed in elfish.

"Guardsman, on what grounds do you waylay us?"

"You are a drow; that is enough."

"I travel with elvenkin; why has she not struck me down?" Sendai asked reasonably.

"Uh… she's fallen too."

"Appealing to reason doesn't work," Illasera growled, shoving the broad man's breastplate with her palm. Her strike came out of nowhere, its force enough to leave him reeling. "You insult my _honour_, wretch."

"Illasera!" Sendai intervened, "Enough! Guardsman, stand aside."

"I will not be threa–"

"You will bring me to your superior and explain your actions before a court of law, or I will let it be known that you mercenaries are no better than the brigands that prey on the innocent. I warn you once more: draw your steel, or stand aside!"

"Do it," Illasera half smiled, half hissed, fury holding her green gaze, "make me defend myself, 'bandit'."

The man stepped back, "I – uh –"

"Here now, what's this?" Another patrolling Fist came up, then looked at the calmly cowled drow, furious elf, and his unnerved comrade in arms.

"Your man is detaining us on the basis of my complexion, offering insult to The People, and blocking us from delivering news of utmost urgency to Mayor Ormlyr from Mayor Ghastkill and Helmite Nalin. I wish to report this behaviour to your superior and bring your man's accusations before a court of law; he refuses to comply."

"Oh gods' blood Tomas… just let them pass."

Grateful for the excuse, Tomas nodded and hastily headed west. His comrade shook his head, "My apologises, miss – he's young and a hothead."

"Lady," Illasera growled.

"Uh – yes, lady." He cleared his throat, "You don't really intend to report this, do you? Not before a full court…"

"Have I your assurance this won't happen again? Would we, as bandits, be travelling openly? Will every foreigner be harassed?"

"Of course the matter will be dealt with… I'll mention it to Officer Vai personally."

Sendai fixed him with a level look, and left him uncomfortable for a moment before finally acquiescing.

"You'll not be troubled again, m'lady." He glanced towards Illasera, "Either of you. Please, follow me."

"We know the way," Illasera rejoined coolly.

Waving her sister down without gesture, Sendai offered a slight smile, "Your escort is appreciated, Guardsman…?"

"Jon…" The blonde-haired man swallowed slightly, unable to meet the drow's dazzling crimson and turned smartly, "This way, please."

"Let him announce us," Sendai murmured in elven; her sister declined from comment, but fingered her daggers, reflexively loosening them in their sheathes. It was a sign just how irritated she was; usually she was more controlled. Sendai hoped this wasn't becoming a habit; it had taken several years for those at Candlekeep to fully accept her, though most simply avoided her; it shouldn't come as a surprise how superstitious the townsfolk and guards were. The monks prided themselves on knowledge illuminating their minds; merchants cared about coin, priests cared about gods, farmers their crops and soldiers wanted food in their bellies, women in their beds and the next payday. It was the way of the world.

Illasera refused to accept it and despised small-mindedness even more than weakness; to her, ignorance was weakness, and pride, stupidity. Double-standards ran high throughout Candlekeep; a pity her sister had been infected, but no one was perfect, Sendai reflected silently.

Her meditations were soon met by harsh reality, in the face of Keldath Ormlyr.

—

Later, Sendai sat in her room calmly. Her sister paced, another unbecoming trait she was developing. It did no good to tell her so; letting her fume quietly would result in an eruption sooner or later. For one who word-fasted so often, Illasera was grating frustration with every stride. The wall would become her next victim if her angry hiss did not escape her lips, and then they would have to pay the innkeep for damages.

"Yes," Sendai allowed gently.

"He is the most arrogant, self-righteous, holier-than-thou–! _Humans_!" the fair elf spat.

The drow did not answer, though privately, she agreed.

"I never – of all the…" Snapping her teeth shut, Illasera fell sharply silent. Neither had spoken of Gorion since the brutal assault and murder, but he was never far from either of their hearts, and closer to the surface than Illasera cared to admit, Sendai observed. Now the drow listened, waiting.

"I can't believe…"

"Humans," Sendai allowed.

"Humans."

There was a rap at the door. Illasera's hands went to her vambraces' scabbards. Sendai did nothing.

"Uh, it's Jon."

"Enter."

The guardsman stepped inside, glancing anywhere but at the still drow and angry elf. Both were still in their own way; the first sat, posture perfect, a dark blue cowl trimmed with lighter grey drawn over her, the other stood, tensed and relaxed, aware and waiting, anticipating, ready to spring in a heartbeat's notice. "I… Officer Vai would like to see you."

"Invite her in," Sendai's voice was tranquillity itself, mild and just off lukewarm.

Jon shivered.

"Uh, yes, of course. She wanted me to extend an invitation–"

"Convey our thanks," The drow allowed that noncommittal smile to grace her lips.

"We have wasted enough time already; bring her here now. Tell her to forgo the niceties."

"If it's convenient," Sendai added.

"And if it isn't, make it convenient."

Jon fled.

With a headshake to herself, Sendai watched him leave and pursed her lips.

"We should grab him ourselves," Illasera growled, "these 'authorities' only delay us."

"Unless conducted through proper channels, we become the outlaws."

"We have Ghastkill's–"

"He is mayor of Nashkel, not Beregost."

"Jurisdiction be damned; Ormlyr _granted_ us his assent."

"Ormlyr _allowed_ us a courtesy. He will not extend us a second if we act independently, or as Amnish agents."

"This is absurd." Illasera hissed, spinning around to face her sister, "Shall we wait for more assassins? You saw what happened to…" She choked on the word.

Sendai rose and caught her in a gentle hug, "I know," she told her softly, "They too will be avenged."

"They were waiting for us… for him… they were his friends. They could have helped us!"

"Yes."

"Why are they doing this? Who is hunting us?"

The drow had no answers; Illasera had held it inside since they learnt of Khalid and Jaheria's murder just hours after they had reached the Friendly Arm Inn. Gorion's request that the sisters meet them had gone unanswered. The elves had fled the inn after that, heading towards Beregost and somehow getting involved in local affairs, despite all attempts to the contrary. Nashkel, they agreed, was off the beaten track, and the presence of bounty hunters had driven them south. Their hopes of evading the their pursuers evaporated with Neira's appearance; they had planned to venture overland to Athkatla, and from there into Tethyr, far from Baldur's Gate, Candlekeep and the assassins. They would regroup, gather allies, contacts and return to track Gorion's killer from a position of strength. Instead, they found Nashkel's pass blocked. Her magic wasn't strong enough to take them across the mountains, and at a loss of where to turn, they had entered the mines.

At first, they had agreed to investigate because of Ghastkill's pleading; Illasera was against it, but grudgingly agreed the coin would set them in good stead. Travelling expenses mounted, and coin was at a premium. One level lead to another, and they ventured deeper into the mines. They tracked the kobolds; the dark was no barrier to elf-sight, and where humans saw only impenetrable black, they saw as if it were day. Without torches to betray them, they fell upon group after group, driving the kobolds back to their lair.

By then it was dawn; the kobolds were day-sleepers. Two simple hexes and the tribe's sentinels joined their brethren first in slumber, then in death. Illasera's blades made short work of the miners' murderers, and her pommel ensured Mulahey would not wake for hours. The enchantment aided the half orc's waking-absence, and they emerged victorious. Not for the first time, Sendai reflected on the cost; they had become little more then mercenaries, but they had done what others could not.

It was then they mutually agreed to start hunting their foe; abandoning the decision to regroup, they turned and headed north, vengeance in their hearts, ice fury in their blood. Before the mines, they were two untried, untested maids; now they were blooded. The bandits they slew on the roads were a beginning, but descending in the dark depths and returning to daylight was akin to being reborn. It was the first crucible.

Now Tranzig, Mulahey's factor would suffer their wrath.

The sisters' eyes met in wordless understanding. Illasera did not quite smile; Sendai's features hardened fractionally.

_And those at Candlekeep thought we were so different, _she thought. Her sister readied her blades.


	7. Tranzig

VII

Officer Vai was a short woman. A short woman clad in platemail, sporting a shock of orange hair, freckles and a determined stare that brooked no nonsense. A pity she couldn't keep her subordinates in line when they were out of her sight, Sendai mulled. Without announcing herself; the badge impressed on her breast bore the Fist's sign, Jessa Vai did not apologise for her men's behaviour, but got straight to the point.

It was something Illasera could reluctantly respect.

"So let me run over the facts: a half orc coerced a tribe of kobolds to overrun the lower levels of Naskel's mines; you captured him and after his interrogation, he was put to the stake?" Vai's scepticism ran heavy, "Now you say his agent, 'Tranzig', is in residence in Beregost, and you have no evidence as to why the iron was poisoned?"

"There were letters." Sendai rejoined coolly, "and Mulahey's confession."

Slightly less dubiously, Vai considered this. "Well, I have my orders."

"And those are?"

"To assist in the arrest of Tranzig. If what you say is true, then his confession will shed further light on this, if he an agent and not a lackey. But let me make one thing clear to you: I am in charge of this operation; you follow _my_ orders. We will arrest this fugitive. Your presence is a courtesy to Ghastkill, nothing more."

Illasera bristled; Sendai agreed, "Very well."

"By all means," her sister added acidly, "Send your men in first. Perhaps they will take him alive – if they do not fall."

Vai's eyes hardened, "Elves you may be–"

"We will work together on this. If you wish the lead, so be it." Sendai interrupted with her usual tact, "We will stand beside you."

For a moment, Vai hesitated, then nodded firmly.

—

Half an hour later saw the Fist form up around the inn.

"All the exits are blocked, ma'am," Jon reported.

"And inside?"

"In position; we await your command."

"Let us hope he is not a mage," Illasera commented dryly to her sister. Sendai withheld a smile, knowing the barb was at Vai and her forces.

"Operating in daylight hours reduces the risk of–"

"Let it go," Vai ordered her subordinate, "and stop citing regs. Our own mage will bar his magic."

"If not…" Illasera let her words trail off into a grim half-smile. Vai ignored her and walked inside, her gait confident and long. The elves did not so much glide as stride; Sendai's slow, measured and effortlessly graceful; her sister's brimming with strident power just waiting to be released. 'Bristling' did not describe Illasera's taut readiness; her eyes flashed, sweeping the hallway's every direction.

Crimson rugs, weathered floorboards; a vase on the windowsill, tarnished on one side, covering a neglected frame holding cloudy glass panes. The musky scent of dust mixed with the yellow flowers' aroma, the bath salts and oils from the upstairs as they ascended the stairs; the beef from the kitchen, fresh bread, herbs and spices; blood from the fowl… the slight creak of a floorboard, the stale scent of a man's pleasure…

"Form up the column, sergeant."

"Already done."

"Then lead the assault."

"Aye ma'am."

—

It did not take long. Tranzig was overwhelmed, the scuffle taking only seconds. Caught unaware, and quite literally napping, news of Mulahey's fall had not reached the olive-skinned man. His beard, close cut and oiled, was as black as his curled quiff, cropped short around the neck and his night-robe was fine silk and linen. The knotted rag stuffed in his mouth woke him rudely, and his flailing limbs were held down by the force of four burly men. The fifth, the gag-stuffer, yanked a hood over his head, and the man was unceremoniously bound.

"Extradition to Naskel?" Illasera asked sardonically, as Tranzig was dragged kicking, his muffled cursing more pitiful than vengeful.

"We will, of course, share all we get out of him with Ghastkill," Vai replied officiously, watching the captive, then barked, "Sergeant, search the room."

Tranzig flung his head back in dismay; the two carrying him barely let his feet touch the floor.

"We'll see what he has to say after this," Vai added darkly, as the battlemage assigned to her unit entered the chamber. His casting finished with the sergeant's oath.

"Trapped, ma'am. It's being dealt with."

Without comment, Vai gestured in the thief-taker. Some time later, the all clear was given, and two scrolls and a ledger were brought out.

Impatiently, Vai flicked through it, and disgustedly handed the tome to Sendai. The drow's lips thinned in though.

"It seems you were right," Vai begrudgingly admitted, "we've a problem on our hands. Full detail, 'round the clock. No one is to speak to the prisoner–"

"He's a mage, ma'am," The sergeant interrupted from the bedchamber, "Oli just found the spellbook."

"Damnit," the fiery haired woman hissed, "right, you'll have to break him, Jamison. I want wards in place ten minutes ago–" she turned to Sendai, "Found anything?"

The drow nodded, carefully scanning the scroll, "Davaeorn. Tazok."

"Tazok?" Vai's clear grey eyes thinned dangerously.

"You know him." It was not a question; Illasera's words were flat and just as dangerous.

"Aye, rumours. He leads the bandits – the most prominent band, and his lieutenants are almost as bad." She drew in a deep breath, "I'm afraid I may require your services. My men are too well known–"

"You dare commission us–"

"Peace, sister." Sendai murmured in elven, then addressed the human, "If we infiltrate this band for you, we will be outlaws. We are not mercenaries, commander."

"Concessions will be taken into account."

"I want assurances."

"You'll take what I give you!"

"Come, sister, let us depart."

"Wait! I… misspoke. I meant…" Vai sighed heavily, "We are cut off from our command in the Gate. We have limited resources, and messages are restricted," she gestured towards the battlemage, "to only a few words. We patrol the roads and town perimeter was best we can, but with your liberation of the mines, the bandits will fall on the caravans as soon as word spreads. I want you to hire yourselves out as caravan guards, and when the bandits ambush your convoy, offer to join them. You will be exonerated of all blame."

"And the caravan master?"

"Collateral." Vai emphasised the point, "if it comes to that. Find Tazok and assassinate him."

"What makes you think we'd agree to such a thing?" Illasera demanded.

"If coin is your motivation–"

"It's not."

"Revenge, then? Justice? The bandits have plagued the roads for months, and the infestation is only getting worse. I need the serpent's head struck off."

"Use your own people." Illasera's chill made winter look warm.

"Don't you think I've tried that already?"

"So now you seek to use us?" The fair elf half laughed, half snapped, "We're too well known; the 'saviours of Naskel'. You condemn us to death."

"I've no one else to turn to," Vai snapped back, "I'm out of options here. You've proven your competency, your information is reliable; now I need to end this threat. Will you do it?"

"In exchange for what?" Sendai asked quietly.

"What do you want?"

The officer's eyes locked with the drow's.

"Your future and continued support. Our father was murdered, and we have reason to suspect his killer is somewhere in the region."

"So that's what you're doing here." Vai barked a short laugh, "I should have known. Elves never venture out except for – well, that's unimportant. You want my backing when you find the assassin, or that we turn a blind eye?"

"Do we have an agreement, commander? If we aid you in this, you will aid us in our search."

"Very well, but tell me something, how did you get mixed up in all of this?"

"That is not your concern," Illasera cut in, "Tell us where to find this Tazok."

"His camp shifts, but we suspect his base to be somewhere in the region of Larswood. Bandits operate from everywhere, and may have a secondary camp in Cloakwood, but the forest is densely populated by all manner of creature."

"And what of Davaeron?" Sendai pressed.

"That name… I've not heard before. I will make inquiries."

"Then we have an accord." The drow looked at her sister.

"Aye," Vai answered slowly, "we have an accord. The bounty on Tazok is set at fifteen hundred gold pieces, five hundred for each of his lieutenants, and twenty for each bandit scalp you bring me." A slight pause, "I trust you won't scalp the innocent."

Frosty silence met her.

"I thought not. Fire the camp, and I'll make it an extra four hundred. I've a cache of trade bars I can barely use, but as soon as the roads are clear, they'll be worth their weight in silver. I'll give you two hundred silver for Tranzig, and a further four hundred for information leading to Davaeron. If you can put an end to this, the Gate will owe you, and the Dukes will pay handsomely. No one dares siege the Gate on my watch." She nodded brusquely, "We'll be standing by for your signal. I'll give you two tendays; after that, we'll assume you lost."

"If you think to buy us with coin–" Illasera flared.

"Done." Sendai put an end to the matter, "if you hand over Tranzig's spellbook."

"Of course. I will, as a bonus, grant you first share of the loot, though any information is mine by rights. I will share what we get out of Tranzig."

"So be it."

And so it was. Within the span of four hours, news spread of Naskel's liberation like wildfire, spread by Vai's agents that a team of mercenary Amnish scoured the mines. Within six hours, the first caravans were assembled, and the two elves hired out their services.

Word was left with Vai for Aerie and the elf to wait for the sisters' return in the inn they chose as their headquarters, if they did not meet the two along the way. They chose not to mention the bounty hunters.

—

Kagain was the dwarf's name, and a grouchier fellow the sisters had yet to meet. A grizzled ex-mercenary, trade bars was all he was prepared to pay. His promise of what his axe did to deserters, cowards and shirkers did not inspire either of them, but neither were they afraid. Gruffly, he drained his ale and shuffled towards his warehouse. Remnants of old wagons, some ribbed, some not, littered the edges, and half repaired, battle scarred caravans were tried and true, and able to rough the roads. These worse for wear carts seemed to boast salvaged parts and scavenged wheels, but Kagain had prepared against the day the mines reopened. He was determined to stay ahead of the competition, and as he pointed out, _his_ wagons would not fall apart, like the plague afflicting the rest of the region.

Neither sister pointed out the source of the contamination, or their knowledge of it. Pleading desperation, they agreed to ridiculously low wages with the promise of great reward. "Iron," Kagain growled, "worth more than gold."

Before the sun set, they set off. Within their group were a couple of other foolhardy young men, hired swords clad in leathers and sporting fire-hardened spears. Kagain could have hired dozens like them, but he did not trust large convoys and took only the one wagon. When it was laden with ore, assuming they survived the journey south, he would hire Naskelites and brave the return north. He would hire more wagoners and carts in the mining town, and get ahead of the game – if the rumours were true. If they were not, there would be hell to pay. He even persuaded the Fist to escort them part way, as far as the Naskellian border.

—

The trip took three days. The ambush came shortly after the Fist left them. A band of twenty surrounded them, bows and crossbows alike levelled at them.


	8. Enclave

VIII

The assassin came for him at dawn. The gnome never got close. Cut down by five disciples, the acolyte bladesingers sought their master's favour and received none; their reward was continued life, and the promise of servitude of their ascended lord. His favour would extend beyond the grave, transforming the faithful into eternal guardians. Those who failed would be denied this gift.

When the corpse was stripped, he laughed; his apprentices didn't understand and exchanged worried glances – a mad lord might choose to strike them down. Valaris chose not to elaborate; he understood the meaning behind the gnome's tattoo: a skull with a dagger through it. It was a message from his sister.

"Reply in kind," he ordered, not caring who did it. "Win the right." The last was almost an afterthought. Imoen… the thought brought his dry chuckle back. Teasing, testing, reminding him never to lower his guard; gods, but he loved that girl. Her droll games were uncanny, made more so by her baiting of their 'brother' Yaga-Shura, the idiot fire giant. Alone, out of all of them, he, Valaris appreciated her banter; Balthazar lacked anything remotely resembling humour, and Abazigal was too busy preening his dragon-self to pay attention to such bothersome trivialities. It was worth the sacrifice – and if his pawn should succeed, then she had failed as an ally and deserved death; her probes were the same. An ally, an enemy; neither had any intention of _sharing_ their sire's throne, no matter what Amelyssan might preach. The others were fools to believe her. Balthazar was no fool; each had plans of their own… it made life interesting.

It was almost a pity he had to kill her; they would meet in battle, and his armies would shred her shadowy brigands and corsairs – and then her soul would be his. She was, after all, only human; a mere child, though one who had achieved much in her few short years. What an elf she would have made; had she been, he might even have spared her and taken her as a lover upon his ascent. If Amelyssan was to believed, not _all_ Bhaal's essence was required to take the throne…

Beside him, his Fey'ri lover thinned her lips in disapproval. Crimson-gold eyes met silvery-grey; his humour turned to frosty steel in silent challenge. The bat-winged elf lowered her gaze ever so slightly; he demanded it. If it came to swords, he might not best her, but he had more than metal at his command. She had shown him the truth of his heritage, the potency of his power. His potential exceeded hers, exceeded all of his followers. His eye traced her ebony wing, and lush red lips; her serpentine form was becoming, her bronzed skin pleasing against her crimson mane. She was delicious in every way, and understood what it meant to be both master and disciple, first of all his faithful.

Only she could call him to task, and he enjoyed their power-play. She would test him constantly because he desired it; she obeyed both his will and what she knew was best for him. It made for an interesting mix; his acolytes didn't understand, couldn't understand; they were in awe of her, and many desired her for themselves, but never dared approach. She ruled them as his second, and was hated and feared in equal measure by his concubines, his female apprentices. In particular, he had one favourite, an ivory skinned, black-eyed elf of particular determination. She was driven, more driven than he, and strove to please him in everything. He chose her as first amongst his guardians, answerable only to himself and the Fey'ri.

The other half fiends, elves and even succubi he called did not stand nearly so high; the tanar'ri were chained, bound by his fey'ri and had already started breeding. Alu-fiends, foot soldiers, would serve in his ranks, but his true goal was a host of fey'ri. Secretly, he planned to attract a celestial and capture her; whether fallen or guardian of light mattered not. When he seized his father's throne, his mortal faithful would be legion.

"Begin prayers," he ordered, his eyes fixed on his 'master'. A coy smile brushed their light, leaving his lips alone, and she bowed, ever obedient, even eager for his desire. After a moment's consideration, he gestured the ivory skinned, black clad elf to stand guard; when he tired of the first…

Around him, steel was drawn, and the bloodletting began; the chants rose with each cut. Those that fell were sacrificed; he expected them to survive. Later, he would bathe in their blood, gathered in the flagstones' grooves and channelled to the basin. His faithful were proud of his figure; they were blessed to gaze upon the Avatar of Murder.

Tonight, more Alu-fiends would be conceived. The entombed soul screamed blasphemy through the moonblade; Valaris queried through the symbiotic link, "How can it be blasphemy when I merely adapt my sire's rites?"

Other matters soon stole his mind.


	9. Bandit Camp

IX

A single arrow was embedded in his throat. Illasera examined the black fletching, a frown furrowing her brow. Sendai waited patiently.

"He's still warm." She yanked the arrow's shaft, "the craftsmanship…"

The drow nodded thoughtfully. This was the fifth sentry they had found. Someone was picking the bandits off one by one. Superstition ran high throughout the bandit camp. This was the third night they had been assigned to menial duties, but with most of the bandits organised into robber bands of five and six, those that were not 'freelance' at any rate. They were not allowed to go raiding yet – not the pickings were anything other than slim. The morale in the camp was at an all time low. Two mercenary groups, the Black Talons and the hobgoblin Chill enforced order, their martial approach leaving a wake of dissatisfaction amongst the untrained brigands.

Teven, one of Taurgosz Khosann's lieutenants, led the ambush of Kagain's caravan. The dwarf's response was contrary to his threats about deserters; he immediately surrendered, flaring, "Ye damn fools! Can't ye see I've no iron?" A quick inspection by two of Teven's men confirmed the truth of his tale, and surprisingly, they let him go. At this point, Illasera remarked loudly how she refused to work for such a lily livered employer, and how it was better to take the side of strength, and if she ever saw him again, she'd rob him blind herself. Teven, who was filtering back into the bush laughed aloud and told her to "come with". Holding out for a rate of pay, Illasera stood her ground, and Teven rubbed his chin, and explained how all loot from the raid was split into shares; the higher she rose, the more shares she'd get.

Amidst furious and helpless swearing, Illasera slipped among the trees, leaving a hapless Kagain vowing revenge. With so many bows pointed at him, there was little he could do. A moment later, Sendai joined her. Now they slowly assessed the camp. Their survey revealed much, but they had yet to catch a glimpse of Tozak. Instead, they had met Taurgosz 'Tenhammer' and been warned away from Ardenor Crush, leader of the Chill. They already had a run in with the hobgoblin Cattack, who confirmed what the Chill thought of the 'filthy scum'… a plan was beginning to form in her mind. This latest arrow left her wondering how best to turn it to her advantage.

Soundlessly, they continued their round. They would report back to Teven the loss of another bandit. The shooting was exceptional; she didn't need to hear Illasera's low admiration for that. The bandits had dubbed the shooter the 'Nightraven', 'Blackghost', and 'Nightwraith'. Some regarded the fletching as an omen; others dismissed the notion. None could quite shake the feeling of being stalked. Bravado only went so far, and the shoddy stills were closely guarded by the Talon. All rations were dealt out more meanly than a regiment; the quartermaster and his tent was guarded at all times. There was no honour amongst thieves.

In terms of number, there were between thirty and fifty in the camp at any one time, but other bands were drifting in and out all the time. Some operated away for several days before returning, and every tenday the camp packed up and moved. The Chill had brought with them a small pack of gnolls, which they used to keep the bandits in line. The Talons' chain and gambesons were far superior to the worn and ragged leathers, their crossbows and tempered broadswords not the crude bowstaves and beaten steel that passed for the bandits' swords.

Now with few, if any, caravans to pillage, resentment ran high. Only the occasional food convoy passed through, and those were heavily guarded by the Fist. At this rate, Sendai decided, Vai would not have to do anything: the bandits would riot on their own, but any rebellion would be put down swiftly and viciously. A conundrum. As long as Tenhammer lived, the rabble continued to live under fear. Likewise, Crush, who even the hobgoblins regarded as 'uncanny' and 'scarily attentive', kept the camp in line.

Nightraven aided the mistrust, but he or she was an unknown; a potential ally. There were many whispers about his identity, but the most popular spoke of a pair of captured elves tortured by Tazok for his amusement. The first managed to escape; the second did not. The blood oath, the bandits swore blind, was the reason they were haunted. Another theory claimed neither elf managed to escape, but returned from the grave. The third was a mixture of the two; wounded and dying, an macabre elven ritual was performed _turning_ the survivor into a wraith. The truth was almost irrelevant; what mattered was a vengeful spirit was after them.

Illasera marched on. Thoughtfully, Sendai took and turned the broken arrow in her hands. There were no elven runes; she had not expected to find any. While they recognised their kin's work on some level, being raised amongst humans and a crotchety old rat-hating dwarf, there were many gaps in their knowledge. If the rumours were true, the only way to stop this elf was by killing him, or completing his vengeance. The thought stuck in her mind: by joining these bandits, they might have inadvertently made themselves marks in this shade's eyes.

She needed a plan.

—

The camp was filthy. Divided into segments, the Chill held the northern region, the Talons the west, and the bandits the east. Lewd, crude and loud, many catcalls and whistles were aimed in the sisters' direction. The offers and suggestions stopped after the first five examples Illasera had set. While brawling was forbidden by order of Tenhammer, this mandate only seemed to apply to the ranks of the Chill and the Talons. More accurately, it was interpreted as no _cross-fighting_. Internal disputes were overlooked. So it was that more than one bandit found the fair elf's daggers lifting his chin, and between his legs. A number of elbows and pommel strikes left a trail of unconscious and bruised ruffians and her reputation for being a wildcat grew.

As for Sendai herself, she pleasantly inquired if they knew what happened to those who had lain with drow. She then proceeded to inform them in graphic detail of a fungus that grew in the Underdark, a fungus that infected drow and gave them their silver hair. It lived in the passage to the womb, she explained, and had a shrivelling effect. For those who had spent centuries adapting to it, it was less of a parasite and more of a nuisance. For those who hadn't…

One ruffian pointed out she was no longer in the Underdark; she smiled sweetly and invited him to test it with her. After a moment, she added dispassionately about the cases of surface slaves' appendixes falling off. It was one reason the drow went through so many slaves, but perhaps she had been gone long enough. She noted that this fungus thrived in warm, moist conditions, but if he was willing, her bedroll was his.

No one took her up on her offer.

She lamented the lack whenever anyone got that look, and sighed about how surface men were good for one night. Word spread about what happened to poor Dribben One-hand, who was conveniently shot by the Nightraven after spending time with the drow. That no one had seen Dribben entering the hut with her was forgotten; they believed what they were told. It was then she decided to kill Crush with Talon bolts.

It wasn't going to be easy.

—

A quarrel taken from a fallen Talon was easy enough to retrieve; an ambush gone badly wrong leaving five Talons dead, Teven included, and a further three injured. With activity picking up in Nashkel, attention was turned towards the roads. No caravans were forthcoming; then one came along. It seemed almost too easy, and then the trap was sprung; the ambushers became the ambushees. Fifteen Amnish guard, lying low within the wagons' barrels and planked compartments burst out.

Crossbows loosed volley after volley; by the third, the Talons were in flight. It was a victory from which there could be only one course of action: retribution. Attacking the town itself was against Tazok's orders, but the usually cool Talons were enraged. There was a mutiny; half sided with Tenhammer, half defied his order and headed south. This sundering was made worse by the deeds of Nightraven, who preyed upon the wounded and harried smaller bands. It got so bad that the bandits refused to leave in numbers less than ten, even after Tenhammer cracked skulls. Murmurs of desertion began to set in. Crush sent his gnolls after any who deserted, and those caught were eaten alive in front of the entire camp.

Throughout all of this, Sendai formulated and refined her plan. Illasera watched, and waited. Nightraven, she observed, was like a ghost, slipping into the trees without a trace. The traps he left played havoc on the brigands' morale and he seemed to know exactly which paths they'd tread and when.

When Tenhammer left with twenty of his loyalists to pursue the rebels, Crush used the opportunity to seize control of the camp. Those that resisted were stripped, rolled in goose fat and thrown to the gnolls.

The wise chose to lay low. The rumours of Nightraven's abilities increased. His ambushes seemed to be in several places at once; it was impossible for a mortal to be both scouring the camp's perimeter _and_ tracking foraying parties that never returned… wasn't it? No one uncovered the cache of damaged arrows Illasera stowed in a tree hollow; when questioned on her comings and goings, she replied she was assigned to patrolling the camp and she followed Tenhammer's orders. The number of sentries that ended up with black fletched arrows steadily increased. Panic stretched to breaking point.

Then Tazok's main tent caught on fire. The stilt supported outer dais ensured a steady patrol, but the domed roof, while weatherproof, did nothing to stop a stray lantern and its oil. The tent flared in seconds, swiftly becoming a raging inferno. The camp was roused, but with no wells nearby and the nearest stream a long bucket-line away…

One ruffian wondered aloud why no fire-proofing enchantments had been set; the question was taken up until one told them to shut up before Crush did as his name implied. Then it was decided that Fist's battlemages scryed for magic and that sort of enchantment would light up like a beacon… Sendai declined from comment, having planted the suggestion several days before the blaze. It was seen as a tragic accident, and even Crush paled when he realised how Tazok would react…

Fortunately, the half-ogre's chest had been saved by those watching the tent. They knew how important Tazok's chest was, as did the whole camp, as it was guarded day and night. Crush demanded those on patrol be held accountable, and hauled out the gnolls. This was the final straw. The ruffians rioted. Those on watch had been performing their duty; Crush bellowed for order and execution – a black shafted arrow pierced his throat. The entire camp erupted into panic. With the hobgoblin's dying gurgle, confusion and disarray spread amongst his ordered troops. Another black fletched arrow slew the gnolls' handler; in their haste to escape, the ruffians fell upon each other and those in their way. Sick of Crush' tyranny, with Tenhammer's absence, Teven dead, and Cattack usurping command, the ruffians rioted. The rampaging gnolls made order impossible to restore; half starved and crazed, their base instincts took over and they fell on hobgoblin and human alike. The result was horrific.

Sendai and Illasera took the opportunity to approach Tazok's chest. The four usually assigned to guard it were caught by the gnolls, and Sendai told the last the camp was under attack. Illasera impaled him from behind with a black fletched arrow. Quickly lugging the heavy chest, between them they got it to a now desolate tent. Sendai muttered an incantation and wards she had set the dawn before flared. Each she placed under a barrel's lid. Barrels filled with oil. Simultaneously, five barrels detonated and the camp began to burn. Numerous skirmishes continued under the mass route, Cattack cutting down the fleeing left and right, hobgoblin and human. His bellows of 'stand fast' went unheeded.

The chest was locked, and trapped. Standing to one side, Illasera snatched a hobgoblin's halberd and brought it against the iron bound chest. Mouthing a counter charm, her sister dispelled the magic, and lightning broke across the chest, frying the lock. It was only a matter of packing the papers into an oilskin satchel, casting down a flare and weaving through the chaos. The tent, and chest, went up in flames behind them.

It seemed almost too easy.


	10. Gromnir

X

"Gromnir, Gromnir, Gromnir, I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to kill you." Valaris paused, "Unless, you would consider an alliance?"

"Yeah, Ole stinky butt Yaga thinks he's soooo much better than anyone else, but we've got a plan, see," The young woman in black grinned, brushing back a shock of pink hair and revealing a long scar down her cheek, "Y'see, yer dead anyway." There was no warmth in her grin, only piercing chill in her eyes, "So yer've got yer life ta lose, or ya can join us. When ole Yuggy thinks he's won, we close in an' hit him from the rear. Triangle, see." She made the shape with her hands.

"Why Gromnir trust?"

She shrugged, and looked at the elf.

"We won't come to your aid then."

"Yup. Pity. But hey, you know how it is. Can't save 'em all."

"You only kill Gromnir!"

"That's a risk ya gonna hafta take."

"There's enough essence to go around." Valaris' voice was ice itself.

"Melissan tell you that? Melissan lie."

"Yer really not helpin' yaself here," Imoen spread her hands, then shrugged, "Welp, guess we're gonna hafta leave him."

"No! Wait! Gromnir listen. You help save Gromnir; what you want?"

Imoen's smile was sweetness itself, and her smile was death, "Yuggy's head."

"Abazigal is an abomination." Valaris stated softly, "Help us destroy them. Then we will settle this if there is anyone left to oppose us. We will split Murder's Throne, and ascend in triad: upon the planes there are gods who will despise us. Together, as brothers and sisters, we can cast them down. There will be more than enough of _their_ essence to consume."

"See, the trouble with you is ya think too small." Imoen flashed her teeth viciously, "We don't just want daddy's throne; we want the _planes_."

"Gromnir need to think."

"Don't take too long; time's a runnin' out."

The apparitions faded, leaving Gromnir alone in Saradush.


	11. Night of the Wraith

XI

"I see you used my arrows well." A dark voice greeted them from within the trees. The rain had yet to put out the smouldering ashes; more of a fine mist, it cloaked the area in chill. Dew rested on the shrubs and grasses; the soft breeze caused tendrils in its wake. Droplets clung to the underside of trees, and even in the forest, it seemed more white than grey. The damp got everywhere.

"It seemed fitting," Undaunted as ever, Sendai displayed as much emotion as her sister.

Illasera exercised her trademark silence.

"I could have killed you, _drow_." The last word was uttered as an oath.

"What stayed your hand?"

Nothing.

"You saw us in Beregost." Not a question. "Heard of our handiwork in Nashkel. Witnessed our slaying of brigands. You range far."

Still nothing.

"We seek revenge too." Softly now, so softly, "You watch my sister's rite. You know the blood oaths."

His silence was affirming and damning.

"Will you aid us?"

He was gone.

—

Back in Beregost, Vai returned to find the two sisters sipping mead and ale. The journey, though it had taken the better part of four days, was uneventful; not a single bandit crossed their path. It was almost as if _someone_ had been watching over them, a guardian shadow perhaps? The living, nor the dead disturbed them.

Upstairs, Aerie rested in a bed beside Xan's. Xan, apparently, was the elf the sisters' had rescued. Arriving shortly after their departure, the frail elf ministered to her patient. It turned out that she had caught a ride with a rather angry dwarf, whose temper had been only somewhat mollified by the wagonload of ore he procured. As the first contractor in several months, he demanded outrageously low rates as it would take days before the iron proved its worth. He also insisted on an armed escort right the way to the borders of Beregost, and demanded a contingent of Fist meet him there. Somehow, he got his way.

It wouldn't be long before Kagain came banging on their door.

"We've got nothing," Vai informed them coldly, then without invitation slumped down, her plate mail skirt creaking as her chain shifted. The three legged stool groaned under her. The broadsword carrying her order's sigil stuck out at an awkward angle until she removed her belt and propped it against the wall. There was no mistaking the Fist's steel: the pommel was too distinctive for even bandits to wield. Most, therefore, severed the pommel and kept the blade. The resulting imbalance ruined the tempered steel's weight, but the stripped gilding fetched a few coins. Vai's, Sendai observed, lacked any ornamentation: it was a purely practical instrument. Illasera had lectured her on the difference, filling in her ignorance when she learned of it. The elf took it as a personal affront that she was unaware of ceremonial and battle-worthy weaponry.

The long dagger Vai carried, however, stayed with her.

They waited. The short, freckled woman's eyes were steely. Her foray found the camp decimated, the bandits scattered and the dead mounted, corpses littering the field, and more shot down as they tried to flee. Some stalked for days. And no sign of Tazok. "Tenhammer fled." She informed them shortly, then spelt out briefly the violent clash between the Amnish guard and the Talons. "Bounty hunters are tracking him."

Sendai offered the brief nod.

"There's been no sign of Tazok? Without him, we've nothing. No leads… Davaeron came up empty. It's as if he doesn't exist. Tranzig knows less than nothing. The coward soiled himself at just the threat of interrogation." She sighed heavily, and waved for a tankard, "The bandits are dispersed, but where we go from here…"

Wordlessly, Sendai produced the oilskin satchel. Vai's eyes widened then thinned as she scanned the contents, "Why did you wait to show me this…?" Frustration turned to controlled jubilation, "We've got him!"

"Papers can be forged," the drow cautioned softly.

"True," Vai released a long breath, then met the pair's eyes, "I want you to go to Cloakwood and find this mine."

Illasera didn't move; the drow upheld her demeanour.

"I'm sorry," The Flaming Fist Officer released a breath, "but this isn't over until we have Tazok. I'll see to it personally that any expenses are covered, that you are well paid–"

"Coin is not the issue here." Sendai interrupted softly.

"You scattered the bandits; gods know how, but you cut the heart out of the serpent. Cloakwood is too vast; even if I had the resources, my men are needed for the clean up efforts. Without a base-camp, the bandits will be desperate. The survivors will prey on anyone that comes their way; farmer, townsman, merchant… my hands are tied. If we don't act now, we'll lose whatever advantage we've gained. You've proved your worth; I'm not asking you to storm the mines, just locate them. Please."

Seldom did an officer plead. More seldom still did she bend her neck. Vai did both. Hands open, outstretched, she mutely appealed.

The sisters did not exchange glances; after what seemed like an eternity, they took the human's hands in their own. The leather gloves creaked under Sendai's gentle squeeze and Illasera's firm grip. Relief flooded Vai's face and her gratitude extended far beyond the promised reward.

"Any informants will be dealt with," Illasera vowed softly, looking over Vai's shoulder at the tavern's sparse crowd. Most were at the bar draining ales, or gossipingly loudly near the fire.

"They're mine," Vai affirmed, "all loyal to the Fist."

The elf wasn't convinced, but let it go.

"The point remains," Sendai prompted gently, "our faces are known. There will be magical detections."

"That's why I'm not asking you to infiltrate. Your kind…" Stifling her discomfort the officer admitted, "My best trackers found no trace of Tazok's movements. You're versed in the Art," not quite an accusation, "and you never saw him. Is he a myth?"

"No," Slowly, the drow shook her head, "The half ogre's real enough."

"Let's hope he knows more than his lackey. Oh, Tranzig was Mulahey's handler, not the other way around."

The expression Illasera wore clearly didn't care.

"I've put the smithy at your disposal. Taerom Fuiruim will take your order. Now the ore's clear, we expect a steady supply to be flowing in within the tenday."

Questioningly, Sendai watched her.

"We've arranged with Ghastkill a guard exchange at the border."

"On whose authority do you claim the smithy?" There was no barb in the drow's words, merely curiosity.

"My contingent was tasked with aiding and assisting Keldath Ormlyr; to that end, I both take his instruction and issue decrees. He has put the town's resources under my command. The dwarf will be paid; thanks to your deeds, he will recoup any losses incurred handsomely. My men need supplying and equipment, though sparse, is in high demand. Ormlyr understands this."

Sendai waited.

"Surprisingly sharp for a Lathanderian," Vai admitted, "I did not expect that. Though as mayor…" she spread her hands in the equivalent of a shrug.

"How are things? With the farms?"

"Poor." Another sigh as Vai scrubbed her hand through her hair in all too male gesture, "but recovering. As long as we can keep those damn bandits off them. With most of the Chill dead, and the Talons gone we might stand a chance, but we can't be everywhere. Even if we arm the farmers, and we have, there's still a lot to watch. Then there are xvarts and wolves to worry about… I've sent word to the Gate to start shipping food down; they can import it on ships; we can't."

"I'm aware we're landlocked." Sendai acknowledged, more musing than sharp, "What about Candlekeep?"

"Candlekeep? I suppose… yes, if we can hold the way. Without a port…"

"Then magic?" Illasera growled irritably and made a vague hand-wavy gesture, "no need for roads."

"Expensive." Her sister corrected gently.

"Less expensive than lives? You've mages; use them."

"One mage, a battlemage."

"This town has no mages of its own?"

"Not of that calibre."

"Then have one 'port in. Ship the iron through gates."

"I'll have to clear it with my superiors, but I'll ask." Vai sounded sceptical.

Illasera made a noise in her throat.

Vai held up her hands, "Beregost is a small town, barely worth the effort–"

"Try telling that to them." She pointed towards the door.

"It's not them I have to convince. The mages won't see it that way."

Illasera clamped shut her jaw.

Vai sighed, not liking it either.

Sendai rose, "I'll go and check on the others." She met Vai's eyes in mute understanding; gratefully, the officer forced a rare, tight smile.


	12. Brotherly Love

XII

In the cage, the great blue thrashed uselessly, his tail bound, his limbs restrained. Great rings pinned down his neck, collaring his proud crest like a common mutt.

"Silence, wyrm. You are nothing. You are less than nothing." His masked captor turned to slumped fire giant, "Ah, the child of Bhaal has awoken."

"Yaga Shura not child! Yaga Shura break free and then _smash_–!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. Now be silent."

"No! Bow to the might of–"

The absent incarnation gagged the furious giant with disdainful effortlessness.

"Such tiresome children," the pale figure in black scampered up to him, mimicking a cat in every way because it amused her to, "will you put them to bed without supper?" Her black eyes widened, "which one do I get? He looks feline, doesn't he?" She gestured the blue with a claw, then she chuckled, "You get to have the big one; so endowed! Whatever will that do for you, brother-dear?"

Irenicus ignored her as he might a bothersome gnat he hadn't the patience to crush.

"Light them up for me again; I want to see the orange one writhe."

Yaga-Shura bellowed as ice encased him from the toes up. Bodhi savoured the appeasing compliance much more than the giant's pain. Seconds later, the glacier shattered. Frost clung to the giant's nose hairs; his scream became a gurgle as his cage filled with water. Drowning was an inflicted phobia. For all his bluster, the warlord did not take long to break.

Abazigal offered even less challenge.

—

"So… new plan?" Valaris looked up from the scrying bowl – more a crystal basin really. Amelyssan's tirade of 'those idiots allowed themselves to be captured!' still rang in their ears. Her indignation made it sound like such stupidity was a personal affront; it would be something his sister would mimic over and over. He wondered about that, when he was alone with his thoughts.

"You betcha bro."

Draped in black lined with pink satin, Imoen's cowl and floor-length robes openly mocked the other members of the Five; her lips twitched with a grim smirk.

"Balthazar?" He suggested insincerely.

"Too dull. Can ya imagine how boring it'd be to spend eternity with him?"

"Sarevok?"

"Oh yeah, cuz _that's_ a swell idea. Mister look-at-my-big-glowy-eyes-an'-my-scary-spiky-armour. Yeah, that's just brill; he doesn't even want to _pretend_ to share!"

"Does he know we're aware of him?" Morbid curiosity prompted him.

"Prolly not. Prolly doesn't care either."

"Well, who does that leave?"

"Um, lessee… there's always Amelyssan…" She broke off giggling at her own joke and rolled her eyes, and then she mimicked, "'Oh Imoen, you mustn't… your hair's a mess.' Who's she think she is? Our _mother_? Heh. Like I didn't know who she was. Yeah, let's try ruling the planes with _her_. Good advice on dresses though; did ya know ya can ride in skirts?"

Valaris sighed.

"S'anyway, who's that leave?"

"Gavid?"

Another gale of giggles followed.

"Ya too funny. Pity we gotta kill each other."

"Do we?" Valaris questioned, seriously considering the alternatives for the first time.

Imoen cocked her head at him, "Ya don't really think we won't, do ya? All that spiel about takin' over the planes…"

"We could, you know. Together."

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed, "I'll miss ya. But… girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"Imoen?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you have to be my sister?" Genuine regret touched him.

She stared at him oddly, "You okay? Last assassin didn't hit your head or somethin' did she?"

He shook his head.

"Welp, gotta go. Murder waits fer no girl. Say, you won't forget, will ya? It's mah birthday next tenday."

"Pink ribbon again?"

"Only if ya tie it to the neck of a purty elf this time! Last one was ugly; his nose was too big! Boy did he squeal when I stuck him."

"Him?"

"Him, her, don't matter. Say, Valy…"

"Hmm?"

"Don't get yaself killed."

He smiled weakly, "Sweet dreams, sister-mine."

"Gotta love ole daddy an' his spooky voice, right?" A giggle-snort. "Be seeing ya!"

The apparition faded to nothing.

Neither ever had any intention of allowing Gromnir to live any more than each other, or indeed, their other siblings.


	13. The Wingless and the Melancholy

XIII

"S-so you're off again?" Aerie looked up at the drow with wide eyes, "We only just g-got here."

Sendai sighed and seated herself gracefully on the bunk. Her eyes strayed beyond the window to the sunlight streets outside. After a moment, she looked back and met the other elf's gently.

Aerie lowered hers.

"You remember what I told you about Tranzig, after you arrived?"

She nodded.

"And the camp?"

Another nod.

"There are papers pointing towards a hidden mine in Cloakwood. I need someone I can trust to watch over Xan. He's still not fully recovered."

"An-and it might be dangerous."

Sendai smiled in understanding, and took the wingless elf's hands, "I don't doubt your courage, but we'll move faster with just the three of us."

"Three?"

"I told you about 'Nightraven'?"

A third nod.

"We're only scouting its location, nothing more."

Aerie wouldn't look up.

"You've done wonderfully so far," Sendai offered an encouraging squeeze, "Xan's already looking so much better. I'm sorry to keep you waiting this way; I know it's not what you were expecting, but I wasn't expecting to go chasing bandits either."

"And now you're off again…"

"This is bigger than we expected. You didn't ask to be dragged into this, and I'm not trying to keep you out; we'll travel together soon."

A sudden smile broke across the frail elf's features, "You're not like most drow…"

"I wasn't raised in the Underdark; I don't follow Lloth."

"Who do you follow, if – if you don't mind me asking…?"

"Knowledge."

"Oghma?"

"That's the name the monks gave it."

"Monks? You grew up in a monastery?"

"A library," Sendai corrected with a tight-lipped smile, "A fortress library."

"It must have been wonderful…" Dreamy-eyed, Aerie pictured the wealth of knowledge. "Shelves bristling with dusty tomes…"

"They weren't allowed to be dusty; part of our job was to clean them," Allowing a light chuckle, Sendai shook her head, "I would lose myself in a single volume for days. Illasera had no time for ancient texts and spent her time with the guards."

"I… can't imagine it."

"Nor I, but she did all the same."

"S-Sendai?" The blonde elf faltered, "I – I want to come with you. I d-don't like being here. It's… it's too much like being c-caged, where my w-wings rotted and then they – they had to cut them off."

The drow didn't stop to think but pulled the averial into her arms. Shocked, Aerie stiffened, then dissolved into tears as Sendai stroked her hair. She didn't try to shush her, but let her weep freely until she had cried herself out.

"I – I'm sorry." Aerie pulled back, unable to look up, "I – I th-thought I– I… I'm sorry."

"Your wings meant everything to you," Reaching across, Sendai thumbed away a tear; the other flinched. "Freedom, the gods' blessing. They separated you from other elves, made you special."

"I… I never told you how I was taken…"

"You don't have to." Sendai rose with effortless grace, smoothing her long, worn robes, "but you're wrong; you have something far greater: you have life, and you are among family."

"Bu-but I'm bound and chained to the earth, I can never soar through the clouds…"

"Not with wings," the drow smiled, "but there is magic; your kin are the envy of the realms, you and those like you. We all dream of flying."

"Y-you do?"

She smiled, "You should talk to Xan. Ask him about the aviation incantations, the fixing charms. The invocations that meld permanence; of the tattoos holding spells. There are a great many ways for you to fly again; perhaps one day, we all will."

"Y-you really think it's possible?" Her withheld breath did not dare hope.

"Speak to Xan," Sendai's hand cupped her cheek, "and wait for us."

She nodded, then swallowed, "Th-thank you."

For the first time since she had seen the crippled elf, the drow saw hope.

—

Aerie watched them leave, forced a wave and swallowed. Neither waved back, but Sendai smiled and that was more than enough. Illasera was impatient to leave, already packed and provisioned. She shouldered two packs and handed the second to her sister as soon as she emerged from the stairs. Aerie couldn't quite shake the sinking feeling she might never see them again. Steeling herself, she reflected on Sendai's words, and after a deep breath, headed back upstairs.

Xan was lying face-up on the bed. On satin sheets of mahogany and deep wine, his gaze seemed vacant. Absently, Aerie tended his dressings, checking his brow and straightening the bedcovers. She hummed absently while she worked, filled his cup with a dose of vile-tasting herbs sweetened with honey and wine, and sat down on a chair beside the bedside table, an open book in her lap.

This time, she didn't read; instead she spoke to her patient about the circus, about the lions and the lion-tamer, the strong-gnome, the Amazon twins, and the jugglers. In particular, she spoke of Lord Blinky the Buffoon, The Great Gazib and Oopah the exploding ogre.

Finally, Xan groaned, "If it will cease your prattle, I will–" he tried to rise and slumped back down again; instantly, Aerie was at his side, gently guiding his shoulders. Xan suffered a coughing fit, and waved away the slender silver cup, but sighed as Aerie quietly, but firmly insisted.

"Gods…" he swore, almost spitting the syrup but caught her look, and forced it down. It did soothe his throat, and with another sigh, he slumped back down.

Gentling him, Aerie pumped the pillows and ignored his irritable glare. Finally, she tilted her head, "What were you thinking of?"

"How long it has been since I heard our tongue," he replied in elvish, and shivered, "I never believed I'd be free of those…"

Surprising them both, Aerie hugged him lightly; Xan froze then awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It – it must have been awful."

Xan sighed a third time, but he did not remove his arm; when the frailer elf snuggled up, he absently stroked her hair, and she set her head beside his shoulder. "That foul half-orc…" Disgust coloured the proud mage's tone, "his foul, petty god…"

"Yo-you don't have to t-talk about it."

He ignored her, "He wished to learn the secrets of my moonblade. I… am surprised she still accepts me."

"S-she?"

Xan looked sidelong at her, then managed a dry chuckle which turned into another cough; Aerie sat up in alarm, but he waved her down. "I am not dying," he told her irritably, "we got here."

She nodded slowly, "Per-perhaps we can go for a walk later? L-look at the town?"

"I doubt there will be anything here of note. A few hovels, a shack or four."

"The-there's a smithy th-that Officer Vai has made available to us. A dw-dwarf runs it."

"We can look," Xan conceded, holding back a scathing retort. Her slight smile made him sigh heavily. "I doubt there are any arcane wares, petty charms and trinkets."

"Ac-actually, there is…"

Interest caught him.

"A w-wizard, Thalantyr, they say he – he has some considerable power."

"Superstitious peasants," Xan dismissed her words, then saw her crumble, "But it would not hurt to look, I suppose."

She smiled shyly again, and slowly lowered her head back down. Absently, his hand found her hair again.

—

"You found wine?" Xan queried, swirling the red liquid in the silver cup. Aerie nodded slowly. Alone in their shared room, they supped on lightly roasted fowl and stewed vegetables on a bread trencher. Xan barely touched his, and Aerie ate sparingly, so it was as well she ordered quail she decided. Officer Vai joined them briefly, but after left after a single to pursue more martial matters, such as watches and patrols. A meal in silence suited her, but the orange haired, steel eyed woman felt the need to occupy her time, when time was a thing both elves had an abundance of.

"We've had wine every night." Aerie chided gently. Their table was beside the window, cordoned off by a long curtain. Crescent moonlight fell against the murky veil of the towns' torches. Through the haze she could spy the brighter stars.

"That goat's swill might be of the vine, but it is not worth an alchemist's fool's gold against a pebble."

Aerie frowned in momentary confusion.

"The point I am making, my dear, is that… oh, never mind." He sipped the wine, "Such small pleasures do not last. I am grateful."

Lowering her eyes, she swallowed, "Xan…"

He swirled the crimson, simply admiring the fermented juice. "Yes child?"

"D-do you know any fl-fl-flying invocations?"

The elf paused mid swish and set the cup down, "You are an avariel, are you not?" He sighed heavily, "No, I cannot restore your wings."

Trying to keep her lip from quivering, Aerie curled her nails into her palms.

"I do not… but…" Xan hesitated, trying not to look at the desperate fear and hope consuming the other elf, "that does not mean there aren't; we can ask this Thalantyr. But," he forestalled her with an upraised hand, "do not get your hopes up."

He watched her heart sink in her eyes, desperately clinging to hope. "I – I won't."

"He may – if he does not…" Another sigh, "it might be possible… with research, time, materials… all of which I lack."

"We – we can tr-try though?"

"Yes, we can try." He forced a wan smile, "but I fear I must retire."

She nodded, and rose; he waved her down. She slipped back.

"Aerie," he addressed her by name for the first time, "you need not lie in a bedroll." She began to protest; he cut her short. "No. You are not a serving maid at her master's feet." His tone altered, becoming haughtier, learned, "The People trance, they do not sleep."

"S-Sendai and I-Illasera dream."

Xan looked at her sharply, "Impossible. You must be mistaken. The reverie can be likened to dreaming, but it is not, not in the _human_ sense of the word."

She sighed, "It sounded like dreaming."

"You do not hear dreams," Xan corrected her in that same schoolmaster's tone, "but the mistake is easily made." His sigh ended his lecture, then he shook his head almost irritably for allowing himself to become sidetracked, "the point I am making is, there is enough room for us both."

Aerie turned redder than his wine.

"That is… if you wish it. As comrades." He sighed and looked away, then unsteadily began to rise. Quicker to her feet, she skirted the table and caught his hand, smiling uncertainly.

"If – if you're sure."

"I… am."

Her smile warmed.


	14. Pink Ribbon

XIV

"That went well," Imoen giggled, "Did ya see the look on ole Balthy's face? Fit ta burst, he was." Another giggling spree, "Can't believe ya told him to seek 'solace' amongst his monks; 'cloistered'…"

Valaris did not share her mirth.

"Oh, don't be all dour-faced, grumpypants. We did it! We stole ole Stinky Butt's heart. Eww, it's heavy, and _hot_. But Balthy… ya really outdid yaself there. Boy, was he _mad_. Pious, over-righteous bore had it coming… hey, Valarie, ya listening?"

He turned to her, his lips twitching.

"Oh, don't ya give me that look! Laugh at poor little Imoen, will ya? I'll show you!" She struck a defiantly dramatic pose, "I'm the daughter of Murder!" She flickered her hair, "Whatcha think?"

His twitch became a full smile, and sent her into further giggles.

"What'd he call ya?" Her brow furled, "Warlock?" She tilted her head, "I don't getcha."

"I made pacts with the fey."

"Oooh, I see. And fiends?" She giggled, "We're the real fiends." Her chest puffed out, "Yup! Murder's spawn is what we are."

"If by 'pacts' you mean oaths as binding as 'geas', then yes." No smirk touched his features, and he held out one arm, "but come, sister-mine, the look on his face when you told him we were including Gromnir in the Five…"

Her eyes widened in mockery, "I know, right? Never thought I'd see the day when ole Balthy's fist would strike a _table_. 'How dare you mock me?'" she mimicked, pitching his tone at an outrageous lisp. "'Begone, vile warlock scum, foul consorter of demons; and you wretch, go with him.' Think he doesn't like us anymore?"

"And Amelyssan."

Imoen's girlish laughter held a scathing edge, "I think I've got it here somewhere…" She fished out the severed head and squinted at it, "Doesn't really seem like much. 'Amelyssan the Blackhearted, head priestess of daddy dearest'." She shrugged, and dropped it as if it meant nothing, "What'd she expect?"

"Are you ready, sister?"

"Oooh, a challenge! Are you challenging me, brother?"

He smiled at her and she grinned.

"Think Gromnir will be enticed enough to assault Balthazar?" Valaris inclined his head towards the priestess'.

"Yup. He says he will anyway. Oh, guess what? Can you believe he's got _other_ Bhaalspawn with him? Like, he's trying to make his _own_ Five? Idea-stealer!"

"Not as if it was _your_ idea."

"Yeah, but that's not the point."

"What are their names?"

"Hey, no fair. They're mine."

"Names, sister, so we'll see how long they last against Balthazar."

"Oooh! You want to _wager_! I gotcha. Hmm, Berena Elkhan, I think, and Kuran 'the Black', 'cuz that's really original, um, Elar Had, Asmay Jahag and, Oris Nimblefinger and Alexander Ralisar, though they don't like ole Green Buttnose much."

"Buttnose?"

She shrugged, "Face's as hairy as an orc's–"

"Quite. Since you put it so delicately, are there any _other_ Bhaalspawn left?"

"Yeah, Sarevok. Some guy named 'Viekang', and um… no, nope, that's it."

"You took care of Gavid, then."

Flashing her teeth, she grinned, "Hey, like I said, murder waits for no girl." She looked at him, "Val? Thanks for the ribbon." She turned away, "Can't believe you're the only one who remembered… Oh well," she laughed and turned back, showing off the silver choker set with pink amethysts, the pink ribbon tying back a lock of hair, "Suits me, don't ya think?"

"You're beautiful."

"…Val… I'll make it quick. No one else gets to kill you."

"Happy birthday, sister."

Stepping closer, his lips touched hers; then his apparition faded, leaving Imoen standing alone. Her forefingers' tips lifted to the phantom imprint, her eyes unreadable. She didn't realise she was crying until after her eyeliner smeared with her lipstick.


	15. Afternoon Theft

XV

The blade sheered through her purse strings; a human might not have noticed, but Aerie wasn't human. The contingency's wards burst forth before the muttered words to stop them left her lips. The thief was frozen; not in ice, but magic, bound. Xan shook his head, and muttered something unintelligible. Sympathy filled the wingless elf's eyes, and gently, she unravelled the spell. The child's eyes darted this way and that, bewildered at how quickly her mark had moved. Then realising she had been made, the girl turned to flee; Aerie caught her wrist.

"Th-that wasn't very nice," she chided gently, "You're lucky I'm a nice mage. What if I'd put an ice spell there instead?"

Xan rolled his eyes; the girl squeaked, "A ma-mage?"

Aerie smiled, gracefully smoothing the thief's hair. It was dirty, just off flaxen. It wasn't just her hair that was dirty; her face was smeared with mud. Pug-nosed and freckled, she would never be pretty, but her impish smile was adorable, and that Aerie decided, was more important than 'classical beauty' (which she didn't put much stock in anyway).

Guiltily, the girl realised she was still clutching the elf's purse and tried not to look at it.

"What's your name?"

"Chloe." She mumbled.

"I'm Aerie."

Xan walked a few steps, still muttering to himself. The sun shone, he was amazed they were still alive, and now the fool girl had found an urchin for a pet. The stores' meagre wears were worth less than his time, which was no doubt borrowed; had she just asked if the girl was hungry? Seldarine, was not three hours of tedium enough? Holding hands, smiling? Asking after her parents? It came as no surprise that they started heading towards the inn. Truly, they were doomed.

—

The forest was a great place to get away from the city, and here, among the scattered hunting lodges of the aristocracy, there was much to be gained.

Coran leaned back against the tree branch; from up here, he had an excellent view of the almost unbroken canopy. He could see the rise where the wyverns were said to be, and where many a fool met his end trying to claim the bounty. What interested him right now, however, were the two lasses skirting the lodges' edge. One fair, one dark. Settling back, he waited until they were in range for a better look. Luck had offered him a chance to brighten an otherwise dull afternoon.


	16. Hells hath no fury

XVI

"Brother!" The golden eyed figure bellowed his mocking laugh, "Face me!" Sheathed in spiky armour, he towered over his foe. Below, the city of Baldur's Gate slumbered, blissfully ignorant of the titanic struggle.

The moonblade flared. The bladesinger-turned-kensai, warlock-cum-shadow adept employed his song. Light siphoning crimson played at his fist, his weapon arcing. The dance began.

The Sword of Chaos, imbued with Bhaal's essence, swept towards its prey. It sheered only air; in shadows, its mark fled, crimson spinning, striking. The blow rang off the gauntlet, rebounding. Fire leapt from the blade, then fizzled. The laughter turned to a roar of triumph, bloodlust filling it.

"Do you not feel it?" The colossus of a man demanded, "This is what it means to be alive!" His sword, longer than most quarterstaves, left a buzz in its wake, the cut air crackling with raw power. The moonblade's low hum resonated with the same death knell, but the ripples it left stilled.

Blacker than night, the two stood out against the darkness. Sarevok's plate to the elf's leathers and chain. Soul leeching invocations, the darkest of rites, jumped from Valaris' fist and murmuring lips. It shattered against the other's wards; he dropped, lengthening his stance. The Sword of Chaos sailed harmlessly over his head; he felt his hair sizzle from its charge. Silvered grey turned to ash, powered, black. He lunged. Sarevok's mailed fist struck the tip aside, the leeching magicks dispelling at a touch.

"You were a fool to come here!"

The elf danced in shadow, wove his song, his web of steel flowing. The sweeping grace of brute strength's finesse countered, belying the ungainly gait the human should have possessed. Steel blurred into night, the glint on other blades lacking; drinking darkness, the shadows increased. Broken only by golden eyes and crimson flame, all other light retreated; before the metal demon in mortal form, even night retreated. Invocations battled wards; runes pulsed, Chaos' sword at one with its armour. Cut, parry, riposte, lunge. Back-pedal, side cut, sweep, over-head arc. The plate remained. Arc left, arc right, cut across, thrust. Sheer up, sheer down. None of the blows connected. Valaris caught and turned aside the razored steel, sidestepping, replying. For each sweep Sarevok made, he cut thrice. For each thrust he made, Sarevok answered with strength enough to shatter rocks.

Neither tired.

It should have been over in seconds. It should not have continued. Rage should have broken; grace should have slipped. For any other, Sarevok was a living tornado, Valaris a maelstrom of steel. Fuelled by their sire, they drew on a dead god's strength, and they battled without rest. The elf seemed almost lazy, effortless in evasion; Sarevok a man possessed. Unholy fury warred against economy of movement, a century of endless rote striking two decades of the most brutal of styles.

In the end, they were evenly matched. Neither could best the other. This realisation came early, but neither accepted it. Neither believed it. Both fought with one end in mind: Bhaal's throne. Finally, it was Valaris who stepped out. Shadows enveloped him. With a roar, Sarevok charged, bringing his blade to bear. Moonblade met Chaos incarnate; Bhaal's essence flowed through both. Locked body-to-body, guard to guard, twin two-handed grips engaged in a battle of wills. Infernal and fey pacts augmented the godling elf; inhuman strength the other. Sarevok bore down, the stronger. Valaris released unintelligible syllables, an ancient, arcane tongue forbidden by the gods. The speech of the hells and the fey whispered as one, focused through Murder, invoked the vilest of curses.

Their swords shattered; the resulting explosion shook the city to its foundations. By the time the blinding after-haze had faded, Sarevok lay sprawled on his back, the upper stories of the Iron Throne in ruins. His hand clutched the fractured hilt. Shards of moonblade and Chaos punctured his flesh, as arrows pierced cloth. Blood oozed down, mixing with the metals. Slowly, he began to laugh.

Valaris was thrown back through his portal. Dazed from the recoil, he lost himself. His Fey'ri caught him, carried him. As shadows surrounded them, the grove and its stone heads fading from view, he felt the voices of the slain. His hand touched the embedded shards, the loss of the moonblade more soul wrenching than the flesh's pain. Magic seared, blistering, sapping. His body began to absorb it, drinking the imbued essence. Knowledge filled him, tortured him. The spirits were inside him now. …Inside them both.

He had failed. Lips parched and bloodied, he growled weakly, "Order the attack…"

—

Imoen was furious. "That _idiot_! What in the hells does he think he's–" Abruptly, she cut off, and drawing two of her many daggers, disappeared without her usual ostentatious display of pink light. Glancing nervously at each other, her apprentices silently weighed the cost of following – and the cost of not. What decided them was the lack of trace; the air where Imoen had stood was still. There should have been an after-image, _something_ to prove magic had been invoked. Without it, how could they determine her location? They shared the same thought at once: five pink, hooded tunics turned towards the crystal scrying bowl. It was one of the few objects in the chamber that was not a light shade of red, or a derivation of mauve. Even the stones were 'blushed', the carpets so faded their crimson could no longer be named as such. They gathered around the bowl and stared into its murky waters.

Imoen's gloved hand struck the elf. The glowering Fey'ri stood silent, her bat-wings lowered in barely restrained fury. Valaris smiled, "Hello, Imoen–"

"Don't you ever do that again," she hissed, not caring he ignored her backhand's sting.

He looked at her oddly.

"You're mine to kill, _mine_. You should have warned me you were challenging Sarevok! I would have helped you!"

Amusement flickered, then faded. Searching her flinty gaze, after a moment, he sighed, "What tipped you off?"

"I _felt_ it, you bufflehead!" She raised her fist, "Next time, you tell me." The unspoken threat promised a fate more dire than falling to Sarevok.

Almost meekly, he returned, "I didn't know you cared."

She flashed out of existence.

The gathered Alu-fiends, succubi, elves and half fiends, all decided that they had other things that required their immediate attention. While the succubi and fiends did not show any interest, the glint from the Fey'ri eyes convinced them to stand elsewhere. The same look was mirrored in the ivory-skinned, black eyed elf his concubine-acolyte. Succubi sensed suppressed rage and knew its fury.

Slowly, he began to chuckle: dying in battle was preferable to living through the next few hours. His lovers did not share his humour, their silence icy. The throb of the shards, lancing, white-hot agony, was dull compared to this.

—

Imoen reappeared behind them. "Mistress!" the bravest of them cried out, equal parts relief to equal parts fear, "You're back!"

"I was never gone," she grit her teeth, "Get back to work."

Sarevok would do more than die; he would suffer like no other had suffered before. She would send him to the deepest pit of the hells, and when she seized her birthright, he would spend an eternity of regret.


	17. Oh, what is the point?

XVII

The attack came at dawn. Yesterday's afternoon found Xan standing in the so-named 'Thunder Hammer' smithy, perusing the various blades and finding not a one to his liking. Dwarven-craft they might be, but what use did a mage have for armours? He already had a moonblade of his own; what could Taerom Fuiruim, the smith, possible have to offer _him_? Aerie, however, was enthralled with the process of smelting and forging. Xan despaired, but after some consideration, left an order: which was to say, relayed Illasera's order. New throwing knives, perfectly balanced, tempered with a flexi-steel edge, for him – _him _– to enchant. The young upstart had the gall to suggest that if he, Xan, wasn't up to it, her sister would.

It made him wonder what was the point; they were only going to die anyway, and seeking battle only hastened it. But he had little better to do, other than search High Hedge for tomes, and much as he would rather be leafing through words of arcane knowledge, it was too late in the day to brave the wilds between Beregost and High Hedge. How galling it would take a couple of hours on foot, and he lacked the strength for even that.

So instead, he had to bandy words with the gruff dwarf, and try to explain in terms the smith would understand precisely what was wanted. A lot of hand gestures were involved, simple phrases, and a headache Xan could have done without. Aerie managed to finally tell the thick-skulled smith what was needed, and an indefinite answer was given of how long it would take.

Retiring to the inn after that should have been a blessed relief; it wasn't. Somehow, Aerie had got it into her head that the stray, an urchin, was orphaned and in dire need of care. While he tried to rest, a dispute about bathing took place, frenzied splashing, furious tearful protests, and wails of outrage. Hair brushing followed, and each knot found a ear-piercing, blood-curdling squeal, and yet more tears. He almost drew back the curtain cording off the bed, but wondered what the point was; it would only antagonise his keeper and encourage the waif. So he tried his best to lose himself in the reverie. For a time, it worked.

The attack took the form of a half-squeal, half-cry, a flying mass of dirty-blond, though now clean head of curls, pink (why pink?) nightdress and an 'oof' as Chloe collided with Aerie arms outstretched in a tackle-hug. Xan came to with a start. The child was chittering away nonsensically; it was going to be one of those days.

"She said _yes_!" Chloe exclaimed, laughing in delight and allowing Aerie to pull her into her lap, not minding the slender elven arms that had caused so many tears the day before. "Can you believe it?" Then the girl's face fell, "but… that means you're…"

Aerie smiled, and thumbed a stray lock from Chloe's eye, "I'm not going for a while yet," she hesitated, "a-and life on the road isn't fair for a child. When you're older…"

"But I don't want you to go." Heavily accented, her 'r's were hard, and her 'a's soft.

"Officer Vai will look after you."

Chloe bit her lip.

"I'll come visit."

"Promise?" Eyes full and almost welling, she stared up at the elf.

"If I can." Realising this wasn't good enough, Aerie amended, "When I can."

Xan groaned to himself and tried to think of a nice, secluded corner in a quiet library: what some humans might describe as their 'happy place'…

—

Later that morning, Xan was subjected to a long and tedious report about bandit activity in the region, and how in the last tenday, it had begun to ebb. The destruction of the bandits' camp brought small relief, though Tazok remained at large, and despite lacking the manpower to form scouting parties, the patrols kept the roads clear. Tranzig's continuing interrogation revealed little beyond what they already knew. The bounty hunters had yet to claim Tenhammer making the whole report meaningless. Had he been of another temperament, he might have demanded why she was wasting his time; instead, he asked wearily, "So you are saying there is nothing new?"

Awkwardly, Vai acknowledged the truth of his words, then shook her head almost irritably, "Aye. I wish I had more." She cast a long, steady look at the elven mage, "You've heard nothing from your companions?"

Xan shook his head.

"Hm."

"If they have the means, they have not revealed it to me." A slight note of vexation; this was tiresome. "Have you secured the town?"

Vai nodded slowly, never breaking eye-contact.

"Then perhaps you will allow for an escort?" Aerie would have put it more tactfully, he reflected, "If there are quandaries of note, perhaps this–" He struggled to recall the name, "Thalantyr may prove useful." Not given to explaining himself, he extended the courtesy only to end the conversation.

Vai seemed disinclined to acquiesce his request, but abruptly changed her mind, "Very well, we shall leave on the hour."

Taken aback, Xan stared, then his brow furrowed into a frown.

"I could use the air," Vai expanded breezily, "I'll bring two of my men."

With no room left to argue, Xan resigned himself to her company; what was it with fiery-haired women?

—

Thalantyr was everything Xan hated in a mage; misplaced confidence in his own trifling abilities, a grating aloofness that was in no way deserved, and finally, the haughtiness of one who did not know they were doomed, or believe that somehow, they could overcome their fate. As predicted, Thalantyr had no scrolls of interest; most of them were human magic, crude, poorly devised and utterly repulsive. Detonations, explosions, short sighted, destructive; favourite of the ill-fortuned. Such devices almost certainly led to one's own demise, Xan reflected with a bitter sigh.

Glancing over at Aerie, he wondered how she could find such crudely devised spells so fascinating, or how she could keep an eye on the waif, absently telling her not to touch, then addressing her with her full attention; he marvelled at how consumed she seemed, only to break it and return without pause. Then he despaired as she began looking through the wands, and asking questions… gimmicks; petty tricks for the unschooled. The waif seemed distracted, and flittered between hovering around Aerie's skirts and trying to touch what was forbidden. Eventually, Aerie shooed her out to stand watch with Vai, who was waiting near the entrance. At least the woman had some sense, Xan begrudgingly conceded. A marketplace of parlour tricks.

Outside, it started to rain.


	18. Luck be a Lady

XVIII

"Greetings, fair, uh, dusk, ladies."

The newcomer executed a courtly bow, a foolish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He immediately swerved to the side as Illasera's knife appeared upright between finger and thumb. She toyed with its point, eyeing him with undisguised annoyance.

Sendai did not return the greeting, not bothering to even arch her eyebrow.

Taken aback, the elf spread his hands wide, "Not quite the reception I was expecting… my name is Coran, hunter and archer."

Duals stares and silence met him.

"I've been alone in the wilderness too long," An impish twinkle entered his brown eyes, "Such beauty I have not known in many a tenday."

Ordinarily, Sendai would have raised her hand to slow her sister; today she did not. Illasera took a menacing step forwards. Coran hastily stepped back, "I mean no offence. I hunt wyverns, not men, though I have been known to woo a damsel fair–"

"What is it you want?" Sendai's words were soft, dangerously so. She regarded the lean, handsome elf, noting his short stature and slender fingers. More weathered than fair, he had a boyish tan that was not the rugged windburn Kivan possessed.

"Curiosity piqued, and I had to see–"

"You've been following us all afternoon," Illasera growled, cutting short her sister's reply.

"Sorry if I startled you, but I always approach strangers cautiously," Coran smiled charmingly, "It is not every day I see a drow–"

A low noise in Illasera's throat cut him short.

"I've been hired by Keldath Ormlyr, mayor of Beregost, to rid these woods of a wyvern who has been plaguing the outlying farmsteads. Usually I work alone, but this beast has grown to giant proportions–"

"We're busy."

Coran looked about to argue, then decided better of it, "Ah, such fire…" Her look stopped that line of thought, "Then I take my leave."

"You know these woods?" Sendai asked, still soft, her eyes never leaving his.

"As the back of my hand–"

"Sister…"

"You need help slaying this beast?"

Illasera turned her icy sea-green gaze onto Sendai's garnet, "No."

"If he can lead us–"

"Why should we trust him?" The fair elf demanded flatly.

"If I may–"

Both 'ladies' turned their stares on him, and he quickly shut up. Those same stare quickly locked. Finally, after several minutes, Illasera gave in, while Coran fidgeted. The wordless 'discussion' included whether or not to kill the wyvern hunter – neither had forgotten the bounty on their _own_ heads. Sendai's reasonableness challenged Illasera's grit.

"Tell us what you know of the wood," Illasera demanded abruptly, twisting to face him. She still toyed with the knife, and though she did not look, the way she ran her gloved finger along its edge suggested one of two things Coran clearly did not wish to dwell on. She never smiled.

"There are druids west, uncouth brigands north, and yonder rise, the wyvern's nest. Spiders lurk east of here, and dryads–"

"Enough. Tell us of these brigands."

Coran shrugged, "They war with the druids, and much blood has been shed. Further east is a huntsman's lodge–"

"Who are they affiliated with?"

"Is this an interrogation?" He asked stiffly.

Sendai did not intervene.

"You stalked us, offer pretty words and the promise of coin; do you take us for fools? Mercenaries?" Illasera's jaw tightened, "We are hunters – of men."

"Ah…" Coran took another step back.

The drow jerked her head behind his shoulder; he twisted, and found Kivan's arrow pointed at him. Coran sighed, "Very well, I'll tell you all I know."

"Take us to them, and we'll help you."

"The word of a drow?" Aware that everyone tensed, Coran smiled, "or the word of a lady?"

Kivan's taut bowstave creaked as he held the string.

"It would seem I have little choice but to accept; very well," the hunter bowed, "I will lead."

Illasera cared little for threats, and offered none but a look. It promised a fate worse than an arrow through the lungs should betrayal follow; Coran's response was his most charming grin. Sendai rolled her eyes skywards.

—

"Rare to see so many of The People in one place." Coran drawled as they walked, "Rarer still to see–"

Sendai's warning look shut him up. The drow remained calm, as always, but Kivan was not a topic she was prepared to broach; the silent elf had slipped into the forest's shadows, as was his wont, and ranged ahead and behind of them, trailblazing and cutting false paths, or so she presumed. What he was actually doing, she did not venture to guess, but it was telling they had not encountered any of the forest's dangers.

"So what brings such fair–"

Illasera's jaw clamped.

Coran sighed.

"We are seeking a band of brigands that has plagued the roads," Sendai allowed, ignoring her sister's outrage, "There is a large bounty on their heads."

"Well now, perhaps we can help each other…" Coran's soft brown eyes lit, "'Life is adventure or nothing'," he quoted.

"And coin?" Sendai inquired gently.

"A means of purchasing wine to celebrate," the hunter laughed low.

Irritated, Illasera looked away.

"You are far from home."

"The winds take me where they will."

"Hire yourself out for any cause?" Illasera interrupted.

"Only those that interest me," he shrugged, then chuckled, "My worst hate is reserved for sitting and doing nothing."

"Mercenary," She all but spat the word.

Coran looked hurt.

Sendai held up her hand, listening.

"You've sharp ears," the huntsman acknowledged after a moment, "I hear it too – chittering. Ettercaps tame spiders in this region."

Illasera hissed, noiselessly drawing twin daggers. She exchanged a glance with her sister: in that fleeting instant, they agreed: no magic. Compound bow and quiver thrust into her hands, Sendai stood back; Illasera crept forward. Taken aback by the sudden exchange, Coran hastily warmed and strung his bow, then jogged after the coal haired elf. Seconds later, there was a roar of pain; three black feathered arrows stuck out from the ettercap's head.

A purple, bloated abomination, with a bile-white belly, the ettercap's claws were bloody, filthy enough to rival most poisons; beside it were three giant spiders, their sacs huge and striped black and green. Chitin plated, their hides were tougher than most leathers, and their fangs carried a venom as deadly as the ettercap's claws.

Coran took aim and shot, his own fletching a mix of speckled brown and white, and grey. A couple had black, taken from a raven, a true mismatch. The arrow burrowed into the spider's chitin; it chittered in pain, and went for him.

Illasera was a picture of a storm, her face its eye. A maelstrom of spinning steel, she hurled knife after knife at the oncoming spiders; the first jumped, and she scored its underbelly, the blade's arc tearing across it. The other two did not make that mistake; their many eyes gleamed with horrifying intelligence. Unfazed, she threw herself forwards, self assured and graceful, her daggers bringing death.

Her chain and gambeson warded against cuts, and absorbed some thrusts, but was only as effective as the strength behind the weapon; knives and other points, with ample pressure, burst through. So it was with the spiders' fangs; more than aware of this, the elf nevertheless darted between the forelegs of the closest and thrust both her blades into its maw and sliced outwards. Then she brought them down sharply against the leg joints; its mouth collapsed, and then its legs, the spider fell into the dirt; her boot heel crushed its skull.

Before the battle had begun, it was over; Kivan's arrows found the sac of the third spider, puncturing it from behind, and Coran finished off his with two arrows through the eye. The hooded elf inclined his head at the hunter's shooting, and then disappeared off into the underbrush, presumably to search for more foes.

Sendai appeared, concern displayed in her gaze, but her features otherwise still. She did not ask if any had fallen prey to the venom; Illasera calmly wiped her blades and boot clean, uncaring of the thick ichor and vile stench rising from the freshly slain. Then she retrieved her knives, while her sister looked and held Coran's gaze.

"The storm is always preferable to the calm."


	19. Reunion

XIX

"Oh my, t-that…"

"A wyvern's head," Xan uttered distastefully, straightening his robes as Sendai rewrapped their prize, "As if we were not already doomed enough…"

Sendai's calm did nothing to reassure the dour mage; Illasera's glinting stare only worsened it. With the morning sun beating down on them, Coran laughed, clapping Xan's shoulder, "Such a tale is best heard over wine."

On the outskirts of the town, the returning quad had encountered a Flaming Fist sentry and the drow firmly sent him to forewarn Vai of their arrival; he returned with their comrades. This time, Kivan entered the town.

"D-did you really slay that?" Aerie's eyes were wide, "You m-must have, but it – it's so big…"

Coran gifted her with his best smile, and quickly averted it upon seeing the drow's steady look.

"Not here," Illasera grit her teeth, "Where's Vai?"

"In – in the inn." Aerie swallowed as the elf maiden stalked off. "What – what did I say?"

"It wasn't you," Sendai assured her, glancing covertly at Coran who tailed after the warrioress, "We'll tell you after we've rested, bathed and eaten."

Careful not to look at Kivan, Aerie wrinkled her nose, "I didn't like t-to say."

The drow smiled.

Xan screwed up his eyes skywards, "How do you tolerate the stench of it?"

"Armour, rust, or blood?"

"Those!"

Sendai chuckled quietly, "A small price to ensure my sister's life."

Shaking his head, Xan walked away. Kivan followed.

"Has he been?" Letting the question hang in the air, garnet eyes regarded Aerie's. Touched by her concern, the wingless avariel, shook her head.

"He's been this way since waking; the mines b-broke him," she studied the paving stones and the grass growing between their cracks, "sometimes he smiles, but then he remembers a-and there's pain."

Wordlessly, Sendai squeezed Aerie's shoulder; she ventured a shy smile. Grateful their soft exchange hadn't been overheard, and even more grateful that the pair were back safely, the blonde elf stammered, "Vai's been worried. She d-doesn't let on, but it's there."

Sendai waited.

"She looks so tired, g-guarded. She n-needs you." A swallow, "A-and so do I." Studying the street again, she fidgeted, "I didn't recognise…"

"Coran," Sendai pursed her lips, "a wyvern hunter. I'll tell you the rest inside."

"So that was…"

"Yes."

She nodded slowly, then caught the drow's shoulder with a gentle hand, "Se-Sendai? You won't l-like what Vai has to say."

The charcoal skinned elf inclined her head, then offered a tight smile. Aerie returned it uncertainly.

—

"I see."

Sendai did not answer. They were alone in one of the inn's rooms, the upstairs cleared for the Flaming Fist, with Aerie and Xan in the far corner chamber. A second room had been turned over for the group, beds and bedrolls shifted. Space was a luxury. Coran was off at the tap, while Kivan sat in meditation similar to Xan's; the men shared a room. While Illasera bathed, Aerie played with Chloe, entertaining the child with paltry magics that enchanted and delighted the girl. The sun had turned to drizzle and back again, the smell of drying damp permeating. For a few moments, the town was fresh.

Turning from the window, Vai sighed, "This news is worse than I'd thought." Adjusting her vambrace, the officer stared into the aether, then snapped back onto the drow's. Astutely, she perceived, "A long trek through the forest would be disastrous–"

"No."

"You have not heard my offer yet–"

"We are not infiltrating the mines for you. We have done our part; pay us, and let us part."

"I wish it were that simple…" Vai's sigh was longer this time, and she spread her hands helplessly, "but I need your services."

Garnet eyes hardened.

"Please – hear me out. You elfkin folk tread more lightly than my contingent. Track a shipment; see where they take it. They must bring food in–"

"By magical means; we found no tracks."

"Damnit, I was afraid you'd say that." Wringing her hands, Vai rose and paced, then spun, "I don't have the means, the men, or the resources to bring down a mine. You already brought low Mulahey in Nashkel's; why not Cloakwoods?"

"That wasn't our deal."

"Things have changed since then." Guilty Vai looked away, "My men… an ambush. I'm down to five patrols. I began with eight. In the last tenday, while you've been gone, I lost twelve good soldiers. Twelve!"

"We just got back." Sendai reminded her gently.

The orange-haired woman with her steely grey eyes wore a pained expression, "I can't call for reinforcements."

"Why not?"

Disgust played over her, "There have been… cuts. We cannot afford–" she drew in a deep breath, "I know what I promised, and I'm sorry."

"You can't pay."

Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

Compassionately, Sendai rose, "Very well."

"You'll do it?" Absurd hope sparked.

"I'll talk with the others." Deliberately, she waited, "But."

Vai's hopes sank.

The drow smiled without mirth, "When you are recalled, we shall travel with you, and you will present us to your superiors."

"Of course." The officer inhaled another sharp breath, waiting.

"And, the city will not know our names. Our arms are in need of repair–"

Vai waved that aside; it was a given.

"And if my companions refuse, you will not press the issue. I will try."

"My thanks…"

"This regional crisis is as much a priority to me as it is you," Sendai confided.

"It… heartens me to hear that, and… I wish I could offer more."

"This is not about reward," the drow stopped, then loosed a deep breath, "I have mentioned our father's murder before."

"I have not forgotten."

Sendai inclined her head.

"I… have a person of interest; someone who may help. She was found by one of the patrols." Vai hesitated, "If you do not take her, she will be put to the sword. You'll find her in the cellars."

Garnet eyes thinned.

"I'm sorry."


	20. Sisterly Love

XX

Concerned brown eyes regarded him; he stared up into a face he did not know. A shock of pink hair covered a scar that ran down one side of her face.

"Do y'know where you are?" She asked gently as he tried to lift his head; all he saw was pink. Pink stone walls, pink ceiling, pink torchlight.

"No… who are you?" Somehow, he managed to croak the words out. The young woman cocked her head to one side; it was then he noticed she was wearing black. A faint though distinctive scent hung around her; he knew it well, but couldn't place it.

"Y'don't remember?"

He shook his head.

A smile lit her features, and wrapping sleek arms around his neck, she kissed his brow, "Yer safe now."

Slumping back into the bedcovers, he nodded. Perching beside him, she promised, "We'll get them."

"Them?"

"Them what did this to ya." Curling a strand of hair around her finger, she watched him oddly, "Ya really don't remember anything?"

Another headshake.

"Hoo boy. Well, don't ya worry yer pretty head; lil ole Imoen's gonna take real good care of you. You rest now an' leave everything to me."

"What happened?" Somehow it was important; just at the very edges of recollection, it hung there tantalising, just out of reach.

"Well…" She hesitated, "Y'see, it's… complicated. But basically, there are, um, we've got enemies, you an' me. 'Petty warlords', you'd call 'em. You an' me, we're…" She scratched her head, "we're kinda brother and sister. Anyway, that's not important; what is is you got jumped. See, Balthazar – you remember him?"

Listlessly, he offered the slightest headshake.

"Well, he's… he's one of the bad guys. We're fightin' on the side of right, sorta the lesser evil against the greater. It's kinda involved, so just take me word fer it. Anyhow, there's this other guy, Gromnir; he was meant to be an ally. See, we each had an army, an' we're each vying – that's another word of yer's – for this throne. You an' me, we're gonna – well. We'll get to that later. These others – Gromnir and Balthazar – they found ya; you'd just fought Sarevok – he's another warlord – an' yer weren't strong enough. I dunno where your army was; you ordered them to attack, but I dunno where or who. So, ole Gromnir and Balth, they're meant to be fightin' each other, but instead, they join forces and march on _you_. There's no way I'm standin' fer that, no-siree, so in I hop, grab ya, an' away we go. You were wonderful, y'know. There were a hundred of them surroundin' ya; Gromnir's lackwits, an' you didn't even have yer sword…"

Her voice quietened, "I dunno what happened to yer guards." Hardening, she added, "They weren't supposed to be able to find ya. Bastards."

"…Imoen?"

"Yeah?" She looked down at him.

"You have my thanks."

She waved it aside, a brilliant smile lighting her face, "What are friends for? 'Sides, we made a promise. Ain't no one gonna hurt you without gettin' through me."

Weakly, he lifted his hand; she took in both of hers.

"What happened to Balth – Bal –?"

"Balthazar? Oh, I left a few surprises fer him. Um, I hope ye don't mind, 'cause there's nothin' left of yer enclave…" Sheepishly, she scratched her head, "I kinda made it implode – blew out the floors and walls. It musta killed, oh, uh, two thirds of the force they sent in. Anyway, you get some sleep now." Leaning in, she kissed him.

He wondered at the dark light in her eyes as she rose, but his body obeyed.


	21. Throwback to what was Lost

XXI

Imoen stood in front of the mirror. Her reflection stared back but she did not see it. "Hands on shoulders," she stated without turning. From the doorway, Morul froze. Imoen rolled her eyes, "Yer hands, my shoulders." Hesitantly, the young man made his way to her and obeyed. She sighed. After a swallow, he seemed to relax slightly. She squinted over her shoulder, "D'you think I'm pretty?"

He gaped.

She rolled her eyes again, and studied the mirror critically. She was sure that scar hadn't been there, but then she remembered last tenday's sparring and the tip of that knife. Other scars kissed her body, a few artful, most not. Each with their own story. She traced one with her fingertip; it ran all the way down her thigh. Its twin marked her belly, from button to hip. There were others, but these were her favourites, her firsts. The one on her toe was amusing though.

"Y-yes mistress."

"Uh-huh." Twisting first one side, then the other, she pulled free the hair-tie; the effect pleased her. As it settled on her shoulders, she flicked it and gave the mirror a roguish grin. It grinned back. Dropping the pose, she clenched the corner of her mouth in thought.

"You are," he protested, painfully aware how close she was.

She smiled, "Yer a nice lad." After a moment's thought, she shook her head and offered him her cheek. Timidly, he pecked it.

"Now get."

Keeping his eyes anywhere but her, he hastily backed out.

"An' Morul," Her lips lifted as he froze, "Close the door behind ya."

Red faced, he bowed low and obeyed. With another tight headshake, Imoen reached for her dressing gown.

—

Climbing into bed, Imoen slipped out of the gown, discarding it to the floor artlessly. She glanced down, then reached over and pecked his forehead; his eyes opened. She smiled. "Yer were dreaming."

He nodded.

"Nightmares?" Sympathetically, she smoothed his hair, her arm snaking around his head. Another nod. She pulled him to her, giggling softly as his nose rubbed against her chest. Still stroking his hair, she sighed and rubbed his back.

"You've a freckle," he observed.

"I know," making a face, she retorted lightly, "an' ye've got ears."

He looked up at her puzzled, "So have you."

"Not like yers." Tracing the tip with her forefinger, she demonstrated. His shiver pleased her. "Ye like that, huh?"

He didn't answer.

"Well, don't get too used to it, I ain't here to rub yer ears."

He stared, uncomprehending.

She giggle-snorted, "Never ye mind," A sigh later, she bent down and kissed him, marvelling at how soft his hair was. Pity it was silver; she'd have to change that.

Angling his head, he looked up into her brown eyes. Delicately, she stroked his cheek. Here, so close to him, when she should be most aware of it, she could pretend they shared a different destiny. She pressed her cheek to his brow and hugged him. Right now, that was all she wanted. As his arms tightened around her in return, she knew she would give anything for this moment not to end. He could hear her beating heart, she knew, and silently willed him to snuggle closer. As Valaris, she never dared hope he'd cuddle with her; she still didn't believe he had forgotten, but as long as he claimed amnesia, she could pretend.

His fingers touched the edges of her hair; she smiled encouragement and kissed him lightly. Snuggling down, she realised she was content just to lie there, here in the first semblance of peace she'd known, no matter how false. Two coiled snakes, deadly when disturbed. She shivered and his hand found hers and squeezed. She shared a tight-lipped smile.

—

He remembered everything. His force was on its way.


	22. Priestess of Air, Priestess of Ground

XXII

"Vai never mentioned that."

Sendai remained silent.

"We should leave her here," Illasera told her, "Enough want to kill you already. Another will not aid that."

Aerie shuddered, not caring for the damp.

"I know you," Illasera persisted, "Her, I do not."

"W-why not ask her?"

"A denizen of the Underdark? We _are_ doomed." From the top of the stairs, Xan peered into the gloom; Aerie was a step ahead of him.

"I'll speak with her," Sendai informed them softly. She levelled a look at Coran, who seemed to think he had something to say, and then decided better. A glance at Kivan told her he had her back, but from the set of his eyes, he was as happy about it as her sister, perhaps even less so.

—

"What do you want with Viconia, surfacer? More threats?"

"I have a place in my House that needs filling."

"_Darthiir_!" Viconia swore.

Sendai stepped into the cell.

—

"M-may I speak with you?" On the threshold to the bedroom, Aerie hesitated.

"Of course Aerie; what is it?"

"I tried to find you a necklace, but…" Sheepishly, the former avariel glanced away, "they sold out of earrings. I – I hope you don't mind. It's just you've been so k-kind to me, and… I saw this and it reminded me of you…"

"It's beautiful," Sendai accepted it with a reassuring smile, ignoring any passers-by. Humans would take it however they wished; gossip was rife in Beregost, Nashkel, Candlekeep…

"It's a perfect fit," Aerie clapped her hands in delight as Sendai twisted it around her middle finger.

The drow smiled, "All packed?"

She nodded, then chewed her lip, "Yo-you made a decision…"

"Viconia comes with us."

Aerie's face fell.

"Oh–" Pouring all a term of endearment held into that one word, Sendai sighed and took the elf's hand. The avariel wouldn't lift her eyes off the floor. "She won't hurt you."

"B-but those things she said…"

"You were listening?" Mild reproof; a silvery brow raised. She knew Aerie had not.

"Well, I – no, but!" She looked up suddenly, "I know she wasn't nice!"

"She sees things differently."

"You-you're making excuses for her!"

Sendai fixed her a long look, until the girl blushed and glanced away. "If you think Xan isn't ready–"

Grateful for a way out, Aerie considered, "I – I'm not sure. He seems…"

"We'll be storming a mine," she cautioned.

"So-sometimes the best way to h-heal is to face your f-fear."

The drow's steady stare never waved, "We leave with the dawn."

"But y-you only just got here…"

"It would not be wise for us to linger now Viconia is loose."

And that was the end of the discussion.


	23. A new arrival

XXIII

He inclined his head slowly. Sendai regarded him calmly, her sister watching coolly. "I see," the Drow began carefully, "and that's how you came to be here?"

They were in the Friendly Arm Inn, Vai in another room with what remained of her contingent, that which hadn't remained inn Beregost. Coran was busy telling Aerie about the wyvern's demise for the twelfth time, around him a score of listeners, some overt, some not so, as they sat in the taproom. Viconia lurked underneath her hood out of sight with Kivan keeping an eye on her, and Xan meditating.

"My vengeance will not wait, dark sister," the elf replied in flawless elfish, "I will see my sister avenged."

Illasera stood against the wall, her arms folded.

"Then it seems we share a common foe." Considering her words, Sendai studied him, "If the Iron Throne is responsible for her murder."

"With or without you, I will raze their tower to the hells and see the Anchev dynasty cast into the abyss."

"And your name?"

"Valaris Baneblade."

–

Hefting his sheathed katana, the elf strode past Vai without so much as looking at her. Her eyes narrowing, the officer tracked the elf's departure. Then she turned and marched into Sendai's room with her usual brusqueness.

"Well?"

"He seems…" It was not uncertainty, but thoughtfulness Sendai displayed.

"I don't trust him," Illasera put in, more clipped than usual.

"Driven. Determined." Sendai supplied.

"Aye," Vai rubbed her chin, "you think he's telling the truth?"

"I think his hatred is real."

"But the rest?"

"As to how he got here… why here, I'll leave you to make inquiries, officer."

"Aye, and by then it may be too late."

"A kensai," Illasera bristled, "he is no Kara-Turan."

"And yet he wields one of their blades."

"You find it curious; I do not. I say we cut him loose and–"

"Absolutely not." Vai snapped, "I will not allow a mad elf to run riot through the streets of my city."

"Then we are agreed?"

"You make it sound as if we have no choice."

"We cannot hold him, sister."

"Don't cite adages at me. An enemy of an enemy does not make a friend." The fair elf's eyes were flinty.

"I will speak with him–"

"Leave him be," Sendai told Vai softly, "I will deal with it."

–

From the top of the Friendly Arm Keep, Valaris stared at distant Cloakwood Forest. From up here, he could see for leagues in all directions. The guards below patrolled the ramparts and held the gatehouse, and aside from the stray wanderer, the roads seemed peaceful.

Dim visions flickered._ Imoen… her voice, warm, moist, soft against his ear…_ He shook his head; he saw himself reflected back, cool liquid swilling over his head…

"Valaris?"

Slowly, he turned, and frowned.

"I – I heard – you y-you'll join us?"

"Yes." He turned back, resting his forearms against the raised battlement. He had seen her die. Her lifeless body…

"I – I'm Aerie."

He didn't answer.

"D-dinner's almost ready."

After a few moments, she lowered her head. "I – I'm sorry for your loss."

Without looking at her, he nodded. Quietly, she left.

"Valaris." The voice was stronger; his movements were tight, controlled, relaxed and fluid, the grace of one born to a lifetime of martial training. "Betray us–"

He waited; Illasera fell silent.

"Do not jeopardise our mission." Abruptly, she wheeled and strode away.

His gaze returned to the distant wood, and the first signs of dusk.

After the sun had set, another came to stand beside him. For a time, they stood in mutual silence. Neither seemed willing to break words. It was not a contest of wills, but an easy quiet; when she finally spoke, it followed on naturally.

"So kensai, you see battles ahead?"

"Seducing me, drow?"

Viconia laughed, and ran a finger down her tunic, "they tell me you are on the path of vengeance. Admirable."

He studied the twilit band and its rising moon.

"Night is Shar's domain."

Without effort, he turned and walked towards the stairs.

"I see the darkness in your heart, elf. You belong to my goddess," As he left, she breathed, "_and to me_."

Back inside, he found her waiting. One leg easily propped over the other, she reclined, her poise studied, serene. She nodded to the divan opposite her, a low round table between them. After a moment, he accepted.

"We leave with the dawn." Sendai informed him, noting his reaction, or lack of it. Viconia's fragrance hung heavy on him. Each ignored it. He offered the barest nod. "We will discuss plans when we are there."

He rose.

"Valaris?" The faintest smile as she rose with him, "your blade is welcome, brother."

–

In the crimson dawn's first rays, an elf slashed his cheeks, teardrops of blood coursing down the naked blade. Four cuts, three drops. The sword drank deep, its edge glistening. Carefully, its master sheathed it, leaving his face exposed. Ritual scars followed the line of his cheek and eye, two more in his forehead, arcs as second eyebrows. Eight scars littered his face in all, two vertical, six not.

When he descended the stairs, Aerie's gasp pierced the still. Viconia smirked, while Sendai said nothing. The fair-headed elf opened her mouth to offer healing, but Viconia's lips moved and her long, dark fingers wove their symbols with a graceful flick. Her mouth curled in a half line, head angled, eyes set in challenge. Valaris did not acknowledge it.

Sendai's lips pursed. Xan emerged, followed by Coran and Kivan; the last had already applied woad in similar patterns to his face. From the fore, Illasera's comment silenced the awkwardness, "We've lingered long enough."


	24. Well of Glass

XXIV

"Having trouble sleeping?" Sendai sat with her hands folded in her lap, her rocky perch no different to the tavern stools or fine chairs; her words were low and calm.

"We do not sleep," Valaris muttered, glancing into the night's gloom. They were surrounded on all sides by trees, and nearby a brook trickled, swollen by the recent rain.

She smiled, "A figure of speech." As he shifted in his bedroll, she considered, "too much time spent around humans."

A grunt.

"Yet I sense you are troubled."

"A seer?" He shook his head, "I… flashes."

She listened.

After a moment, he sighed. They were alone, as much as they could be; Illasera patrolled, Kivan kept watch, and somewhere to the south, Xan meditated, while Aerie tranced. The Reverie. Coran stood guard over Viconia, who watched him in equal parts amusement, equal parts wrath. Dire retribution of one form or another was promised… Drow and their games. Three days into Cloakwood, five from the Friendly Arm Inn, and she had not stopped watching. None of them had. Coran's eyes stayed on Viconia, and strangely did not stray to Aerie, and Illasera matched him stare for stare until he backed off; Sendai remained cool. Xan cared for nothing but his own endless droning on the Art and how futile life was, and Aerie's eyes shied away whenever they met his. Yes, everyone watched him, some subtly, some not.

"…Water, I think. Surrounding me. Darkness. I see myself looking out."

"A lake?" The words were gentle, sincere. She did not mock him.

The kensai sighed again.

Patiently, she waited.

"I don't know what I see. I just… glimpses. A well of glass…"

"Perhaps a memory?"

"Perhaps." Then he shook his head, and tilted his neck, "And what do you see?"

"…A life lost to me. Home… as it was. Rows upon rows of tomes, a place surrounded by sea, nestled within cliffs…"

It was his turn to listen.

Sendai shook her head, sadness tingeing her words, "I see what each of us see: memories. We choose were we live, though not where we come from. This… darkness, these waters; perhaps something is lost to you?"

He had no answer for that.

A few moments later, the drow ended their silence, breaking them both from their thoughts. "Rest now, daybreak will be upon us soon." It was as much to her as to him, he suspected.


	25. External Key

XXV

Locating the mines would have caused most some difficulty. Most would not have braved their depths, and those that did would use brute force or guile. Releasing two baby wyverns down the shaft was the height of madness some might say. Coran's idea, from a 'debate' with Xan. Sendai consented to this only because they belonged to an agent of the Iron Throne, because the ensuing havoc allowed them to simply walk in.

Illasera was disgusted. Coran's wide grin made it worse. Xan's brow, damp from concentration, finally released the spell. First, he had steered the scalekin into the palisade yard, flapping over the walls like two beleaguered chickens, and then their handler ran after them, shouting at the guards not to shoot. It was almost comical, Aerie decided, trying to hide a small smile, were it not for the serious eyes of her companions as they prepared for battle. The wyverns charged straight for the mine shaft, and panicked cries ensued. Their keeper bellowed that their blood would summon the mother, unaware or uncaring that the elder wyvern had already been slain. Perhaps there were others. It was not a thought she cared to dwell on.

And then they were moving. No magic, no arrows in the throats of the sentries; no tracks, nor passage of their passing. They slipped soundlessly into the lake, Valaris, Illasera and Coran. Xan followed. Kivan kept watch, his eyes scanning the battlements. Viconia waited, amused, Sendai standing beside her. They had all stripped, plastering themselves with a brownish dye, blue streaking across them. Their possessions, stowed in bags, were sealed, water-tight, and safe. Not for the first time, Aerie had doubts about this.

…And then the plan changed.

—

"We've found something," Coran informed them with a grin.

Valaris and Illasera shared silence. Sendai waited, her look inviting him to elaborate.

"You're not going to believe this…"

Aerie certainly didn't. How had they found it? Xan dropping a ring? She didn't believe that, no matter what Coran claimed.

"It changes nothing."

Sendai looked thoughtful, contrary to her sister's short declaration.

Sultrily, Viconia spoke, as if each sensuous word should be punctuated by a swish of her hips, or the swell of her bust, a lusty breath… Aerie ignored it. "Stone is not a barrier," the Drow was saying, "my people…"

Kivan predictably grated his teeth, _his_ silence louder than shouting.

"T-there's a lake there, i-if you hadn't n-noticed," She put her foot down, "it'd f-flood everything."

"That," Viconia breathed between uttering her dark tongue, "is my point."

Aerie did not like being looked at as if she held no more significant than a gnat. "Th-there are slaves down there!"

The drow shrugged with effortless grace.

"I agree." Valaris joined her side abruptly; she smiled up at him gratefully.

"_Rivvil_…"

"P-perhaps a crack?" Bolstered by the kensai's support, Aerie ventured an alternate plan, "t-to distract them?"

She did not care to translate Viconia's mutter, mutely appealing to Sendai instead. The more reasonable drow considered.

"W-we could d-do both. S-slip over the wall and…"

"Split our numbers?" Illasera asked harshly, then glanced at Kivan, who offered the slightest nod, "Well, sister?"

"X-Xan?"

"I… could contain it." Viconia allowed grudgingly.

"We are not here to free them," Xan sighed, "Oh, what is the point?"

"Finally, one of you _jaluk _shows–"

"Enough," Kivan grated.

Still Sendai looked thoughtful, then glanced at Illasera. The green eyed elf stared back, waiting. "Vai will want the iron." The Drow shared her mind, "The region is desperate. They bring supplies in via magic."

Illasera's eyes narrowed, then she snorted to herself.

"W-what are you thinking?"

Valaris growled, "One of us remains behind."

Sendai inclined her head.


	26. Inside Cloakwood's Mines

XXVI

"Evacuate, then prepare to drain the mine." The foreman barked, "Get to the upper levels. You, get the prisoners."

Illasera listened as the 'rivvil' threw his considerable weight around. As much as she didn't care to admit it, for once she was in agreement with the Drow – the one that wasn't her sister. He was a brute, and she was drenched, not from the lake but from the rain. The latest downpour was to their advantage as long as they were outside, but not down here. With the two wyverns rounded up, now the guards were tending to the next problem. It would be deemed as suspicious by anyone with half a wit.

So far, they had avoided detection. This felt far too much like thieving, but Sendai wanted the place intact. She had forbidden Xan from planting command words – they could hold the surface buildings ransom… She met Kivan's eye; the Nightraven returned it. She was fast growing tired of this masquerade.

—

The katana's pommel slammed into the guard's temple. The human's eyes rolled up in his head and then he crumpled. Without pause or thought, Valaris reversed the katana and halted on Sendai's raised palm. No sign of feeling passed his features; he simply left the guard where it was. Shaking his head, Coran pulled the man out of sight. Sendai walked on.

—

Aerie swallowed; she expected things to be bad, but not like this… the slave sleeping pit brought back memories. She bit her lip, pretending not to notice. Xan laid his hand on her shoulder; she smiled weakly at him, then kept going. She had a job to do.


	27. The Kensai Mage Returns

XXVII

Sarevok did not swear loudly. Instead, his glowing golden eyes narrowed. Davaeron held his ground, forced to lift his gaze to meet that of his employer's. He was not in the habit of repeating himself. Gathering his green robes about him was a sign of weakness, one he would not indulge in. Sarevok still did not speak. There was nothing overtly threatening, nothing except the silent menace of how he stood, how he held himself, the contempt and stilled fury in his eyes.

Davaeron did not have to wait long. This flood… this crack in the bedrock was not wholly unexpected. Unlike some, he had no faith in dwarven work, or any but his own. The mortar had given way, and a leak had been sprung. Had it not delayed the shipment, he might never have had to report it. He looked forward to tormenting his apprentice, when he returned. A petty vice, but distractions were the privilege of the powerful, and Stefan was his.

The katana appeared out of nowhere, its tip bursting through his heart before he felt it enter. Stupidly, he stared at it, then gasped as it was yanked free.

"_You_!" Sarevok roared, reaching for the Sword of Chaos' replacement, which lay on the table to his right. Davaeron slumped, falling to his knees. The elf ran forward, blade raised in both hands across his face; Sarevok growled, catching the blade on his leather vambrace. Here, in the heart of the Iron Throne, he wore no armour, only leather britches, a thin, loose tunic, boots, and belt. His left hand just touched the pommel; he roared with agony. The katana seared through leather and sinew alike. Bearing down, the elf brought all his strength to bear and hacked off his foe's forearm. Gushing blood, and seeing red, Sarevok grabbed his blade, and swung madly. The kensai began to dance.


	28. Iron First

XXVIII

Sendai watched the portal fizzle, flicker and shut down. Her lips thinned. Aerie appeared by her side, "I-it's done." Then she followed the direction of the other's stare, and glanced around. Slowly, she realised, "W-where's Valaris?"

The Drow shook her head.

"He – he's…"

"Gone." Illasera put in, her tone icy.

"He k-knew the Art?"

Sendai touched the avariel's cheek; the blonde girl froze at the gesture. The other's gaze was compassionate, saddened.

"He's… not coming back."

Sendai shook her head slowly.

"H-how do you know?" She pressed.

The Drow's look was enough.

—

"I see you reconfigured the portal." Despite herself, Vai sounded hard-pressed to disapprove, as she looked around Davaeron's chamber. To one side, a library filled with tomes, a shrine, a guard-post and armoury, living quarters, storerooms, and… a flaxen haired youth, Stefan. He stood quivering in Tomas' custody, while Jon, the sergeant, kept oversight.

"The upper levels are sealed," Marc, another guardsman reported, "and the bedrock wall repaired."

Nearby, Viconia smirked, stretching out like a cat. Coran eyed her appreciatively. Vai ignored them, as did the two sisters.

"You've done well," The orange haired officer admitted, "There's enough iron stockpiled here to reverse the crisis… a fortune."

Sendai said nothing.

Vai scrubbed her gloved hand through her hair, "You'll be well paid, and I assure you, this will be sold _fairly_–"

"We don't care about that," Illasera cut in sharply, "How long for you to move this?"

"We've set guards; your Xan is studying the portal–"

Her flat stare stopped the woman short.

"I don't know. Several days. The mine guards on the surface–"

"Are being hunted down. I was with Kivan." Illasera added, "The 'Nightraven'."

Vai did not falter, but kept her look steady, "We will take the slaves in and offer them refuge as soon as we can find them. There are more immediate concerns–"

"H-how could you say that?" Aerie chimed in, aghast. "Th-they're half dead!"

"I have a city to worry about." Softening her tone, Vai shook her head, "I'm sorry for those who suffered, but I can only do so much. Even with this mine–"

"Those responsible will come back for it." Sendai held up the satchel.

"You broke the wards." Vai sighed in relief, gathered herself, and demanded, "Who is it?"

The Drow held out one of the letters.

"Rieltar Anchev."

"So it would seem…"

"Damn them." Vai swore, abruptly pacing, then stopping, "Where's your kensai?"

Aerie studied the ground. Illasera set her jaw.

"Oh hells…"


	29. Now you die your final death!

XXIX

Valaris screamed. Sarevok waved his stump, dispassionately waiting for the potion to run its course. His mentor had cast a particularly painful variation of a life-leeching spell on the one-eyed elf in front of him. Already, the elf's fair skin was bloodied, torn and broken. The scars from where the moonblade and Sword of Chaos met in a storm of shards marked both their flesh.

Tamoko stood beside Sarevok, her brown eyes furious. She chanted under her breath, providing healing for both of them. Her master waved her to still; nearby, Cythandria stood, clad in emerald green, darker than Davaeron's. The blonde and the black-haired women exchanged cool glances, each ignoring the other. One a warrior, one a mage, one exotic, the other beautiful. Olive skinned, porcelain. Night and day. In this one instance, they shared a common goal: punishing the one who dared attack their lord. Their methods differed; Sarevok grunted, not caring. His patience used up, he broke the silence.

"And now you die," His good hand slowly started to crush the elf's throat. No one dared challenge him. "You were a fool to come here." Sarevok bore down, his eyes now a steady golden glow, "_I_ will be the last, and _you_ will join the rest."

The elf broke into golden dust.


	30. My turn, creep

XXX

Irenicus writhed involuntarily. His back arched, his toes curling as shocks ran through him. His gaze was still the same, cold, baleful pale blue when his muscles contracted. He was in a jar. A jar of glass. Imoen watched, her head cocked slightly forward and to one side, chin resting on her knuckle. _Her_ gaze never wavered, never faulted. Irenicus stared back.

For hours she hadn't spoken; now she broke her silence. "Y'd think no one'd watch ya." She leaned forwards. "An' y'd be right, but y'didn't stop to think that them y'took were being watched, didya?" Pressing close to the glass, she breathed, "An' you've disrupted a feud that y'had no business gettin' involved in."

Over-dramatising a sigh, she ran her black-clad fingers through her hair, jaw-length pink brushed aside long enough to reveal a long scar.

"I was gonna kill 'em anyway, but you denied that." Then the muscles in her jaw clamped. "As me dear brother would say, 'tis a matter o' 'family honour'."

The smile that etched her lips was as warm as the void of soulnessness.

"So tell me, 'Reni." She drawled, leafing through the mage's spellbook. "Wassit like to lose yer soul a second time? Lessse… how about we begin with… _my_ potential…"

Irencius began to scream.

—

"What is it, Nara?" Imoen did not turn, but studied the doubled-over figure through the glass.

"We… could not secure her, mistress."

Imoen shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Mistress?" Hesitation.

"'Snot important."

The young woman didn't question it, but bowed slightly. Irritably, Imoen waved. "An' quit that. I ain't Balthazar or Sarevok. Yer ain't no fawnin' lackey." She giggled to herself, but her eyes were cold and never left the jar.

"Yes mistress."

"I think I broke him." she mused, thoughtfully rubbing her scarred chin. "Didya find 'em?"

"The elder brain…"

Little fazed Nara, Imoen observed, but the concept of a giant brain in goo was one of the exceptions; she didn't blame her.

"Husks…"

"Yup, thought so." Pursing her lips, she considered, then dismissed her thought. "Ye brought back the hide? I wonder how well scales tint… An' the 'Flayers?"

"Dead."

"All of 'em?"

"Except the one you requested."

"Goodie. Where's it now?"

"Awaiting your command. The collar–"

Her smile darkened.

Nara backed away.

"An' Nara, tread quietly. I don't want 'im woke yet."

Her acolyte bowed; she wasn't talking about the elf in the jar. She chuckled to herself.


	31. While we were away

XXXI

The kensai's blade carved an arc through flesh and leather alike, mail and shield; the Fey-ri's might a match for most humans, her skill surpassed by few. At the head of the elven-demonic host, the cambions and Alu-fiends charged, axes and greatswords cleaving through spears, their own plated mail turning aside the multitude of arrows. Behind them, the half fiends, elves and succubi returned the barrage with their own projectiles. Spells, arrows and axes soared through the air, arcing over the heads of the cambions and Alu-fiends and into the men defending the gates.

What remained of Balthazar's guard was systematically being decimated. Five separate forces of elves and fiends stormed the compound, while three more waited elsewhere in ambush. As the first set of gates fell, the succubi began opening portals to the lower hells. While the Fey-ri stormed the rise, the town below was massacred with fire, blade and claw. Those that died were the fortunate ones.

Valaris' orders mentioned not butchering 'innocents', but with their master's absence, that wish was lost in the frenzy.

Balthazar's monastery was a veritable fortress set high up in the Amkethran desert. By the time the host had finished with it, it was little more than rubble, dust. Its master was not at home.

—

All that was left of the town was a smouldering ruin. The heavy grey gates, Amkethran iron, lay melted, the thick sandstone scorched. The town's wells, the lifeblood of the outpost, were defiled, polluted by means magical and mundane. The unholy rites were chanted, the bodies of the slain used alongside the living. An ivory skinned, black haired elf cried out to her absent lord; a bat-winged kensai watched as the succubi plied themselves with mortal warriors. Those with elven blood lived; the rest did not.

Three pit fiends, drawn by the carnage, prowled, awaiting Balthazar's return. It would not be long now…


	32. Outskirts of the Gate

XXXII

"W-what's she saying t-to her?" Aerie shifted her weight nervously and trying to keep her eyes from the cottage. Cloakwood was behind them, and no further mention had been given to the events there. Using the portal had been deemed 'too risky' until Valaris' tampering was undone and the portal reconfigured. Besides, there were still bandits in the forest. Kivan's eyes had glowed with an unholy light that seemed to intrigue Viconia, and Illasera went with him. Xan, Sendai and herself set to work on the portal until the Flaming Fist Battlemage arrived. That was two tendays ago.

"Reminding her of what a mother's capable of," Dispassionately, Illasera kept watch, as inclined to converse as the stones marking the garden's perimeter. About an hour later, the pair emerged, Sendai as serene as ever and Tenya not quite trembling. Freshly dried, the girl's face was still blushed from scrubbing and she clamped down on her jaw.

"We've decided it's best she comes with us." Sendai announced in a undertone that discouraged questions or argument. Dressed in blue, Tenya nodded firmly, her tunic differing to the one she wore an hour ago. Neither made any mention to the silk-wrapped golden bowl.

If Aerie was surprised, Illasera was not; Viconia snorted slightly and Tenya glared at her, but quickly averted it when Sendai's glance fell on her.

"We make for the Gate."

"What about the fishermen?" Tenya flared, "You promised they'd be dealt with!"

"And they will."

"How?" The acolyte pressed.

"By the proper authorities."

Viconia's snort was more audible this time.

Sendai's steady stare fixed on the other drow's, ignoring the girl's balling fists. Finally, Viconia looked away, understanding her look all too well. Then, as if none of the others were present, Sendai turned to Tenya, "Do you know the penalty for a priestess' murder?"

Tenya nodded.

"And do you know what will happen if our steel ends them and not the rope?" She waited a few seconds, "They'll become martyrs for their cause and be welcomed into Talos' domain as heroes. When they dangle from the gallows, all will witness the cost of murder and no one will celebrate them." No smile graced her face or words, "That's if they're not drowned."

This time, the girl nodded fiercely.

—

Later, when the afternoon sun had faded into dusk, they reached the other side of the river. It had taken three hours to cross the bridge and Tenya was tiring. The girl ignored the choke of the traffic and the distance as if such things were beneath her notice, but the awaiting trial and testimony… Unselfconsciously, Sendai offered her hand. After a moment's hesitation, the acolyte took it, uncharacteristically grateful and despising herself for such weakness. Understandingly, Sendai didn't look at her and in the bustle, no one noticed.

Illasera and Aerie led the way, with Xan and Viconia a few steps behind them. The latter's cowl was draped heavily across her face, and her eyes were wary and waspish. A reluctant Kivan trailed at the rear, his ever watchful gaze finding him, for once, sharing something in common with Viconia. Neither would ever admit it. Sendai wordlessly acknowledged his presence when he rejoined them before crossing the bridge. Returning from his foray, he kept his usual silence. He wordlessly added his coin to the bridge's toll.

At the entrance to the city, they were charged a further tax, and five elves and human passed without incident. Vai's instruction had been to meet her at the Elfsong tavern, and having been given directions by the short woman, the party headed there. Coran was waiting for them there, deep in his cups as usual. As he welcome them with wide arms and smile, he caught Illasera's look, and hastily changed what he was about to say. He had not forgotten her warning to leave the wingless elf alone.

The Elfsong was everything they expected; base, rowdy, and full of the constant low murmur of conversing patrons, laughter, cussing and general muted revelry. Muted because the state of affairs; but patrons came to drown their sorrows and forget about it. The crackle of the fire and the smell of stew welcomed all visitors, along with the staler scents of old ale, rotting straw and other, less mentionable smells. Tenya's glare met each of the patron's in turn, including Coran's, but she refrained from comment and stood half a step closer to Sendai than before. Aerie's nose wrinkled, but she too remained quiet, finding herself wedged between Illasera and Xan. Being surrounded suited Viconia just fine, though she would never admit it, and she matched Coran's sultry suggestiveness with an arched eyebrow that was at once, both dismissive and inviting.

As it turned out, Coran had been able to secure rooms for them. Two rooms. The first larger than the second, offered six pallets and the second only one, though two could be included at a stretch. A round of less-than-impressed looks met the wayward elf, but he only shrugged. While Aerie camped out in one of the middle pallets, Xan and Kivan took the side of the room nearest the door, Kivan mutely nominating himself as doorman. Illasera took the other middle pallet, leaving the last two for Sendai and Tenya. Viconia found her way into Coran's room, though had she wished it, she could have bunked in the main.

After travelling together for so long, modesty was balanced with necessity, and blind eyes were turned almost as much as indifferent was exercised. In that curious mix of aloofness and disregard for what was natural, Tenya found herself feeling both shy, awkward and annoyed in the presence of elves. Sendai and Aerie were the only ones who noticed, and the girl didn't care for Coran and stayed away from him. Aerie, she didn't like, finding the compassionate, shy smiles and stammering words an incessant reminder of her own weakness, and Sendai, she admitted secretly, she was grateful for. Her lessons had begun almost immediately, and the drow kept her mind off events to come while they were stuck on that stupid bridge. She began by testing her knowledge, challenging and engaging with her, seeming to know when to let her be and when to interrupt. She didn't like being read so easily, but she hadn't forgotten their 'conversation' either. Her cheeks still reddened at the memory of it, but she fought it down.

She should have gone to the Water House, where her mother's sister-priestesses were, but she wasn't ready to yet. She thought she was, but that had been before Sendai's talk. It made her blood boil when she remembered the tears she shed, or how the drow treated her like a child. She couldn't forget her warmth or the grip of her arms around her, or how deeply she searched her eyes. It was like she had seen into her soul.

Tenya sighed. Alone in the corner, she was more frustrated than bored; her teacher had stepped outside to speak with Coran. She glanced over at Illasera, who was too busy sharpening her knives to notice. Aerie and Xan were deep in some discussion about the Art, and the silent one was trying his best to become a shadow. Slumping down, she tried not to think of the bugs that might be crawling through the straw and closed her eyes.

She wasn't pleased when Sendai woke her the next morning and told her to bathe, leaving the large jug of water at her side. All the elves were awake ready and she was the only one not up. As Sendai left, she demanded, "Why?"

The drow turned questioningly.

"I'm not a child."

Her look said otherwise.

"I don't need a bath." Stubbornly, the girl folded her arms.

"If you wish to appear before Commander Scar looking like an urchin–"

"Scar!" Her sharp intake of breath caused the most annoyingly mild tone in her teacher.

"We're meeting with him and Vai at noon."

"What time is it now?" She had the horrible suspicion it was far later than she thought, and it was easier to focus on that then wonder how some ragtag band were in touch with one of the city's most powerful non-aristocratic men.

"You've a couple of hours. I've saved you breakfast," The drow nodded to a covered bowl by her bedside, "your hairbrush is near the top of your pack."

Tenya nodded slowly, then glared, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had enough to think about already." Sendai paused, "wear the grey dress."

"I hate dresses."

Sendai waited patiently.

"Umb–"

The look cut short the oath; Tenya didn't quite flinch. "I'll be back in half an hour." It was both a warning and a threat, though it was phrased as neither. Tenya didn't like to think on the consequences if she failed this charge.

"I'll be ready," the girl muttered, defiantly deciding she would wear leggings and switch to her tunic as soon as she could. If it appeased her, Sendai didn't show it, and calmly left her to it. Once she was gone, Tenya lifted the cloth from the bowl, eyes wide with delight. Honeyed figs, steaming oats and bacon, mixed in with dried fruit and nuts. She could have kissed her; maybe the drow wasn't quite so bad after all…


	33. So it comes down to this

XXXIII

Scar was not what she had expected. A battle-hardened warrior was one thing; a battle-hardened warrior with a kind, though weary, smile was something else. He reminded her of the archetypal grandfather, though he was not yet grey enough, Sendai noted. His one good eye darkened with Tenya's tale, and she was pleased at how the girl had spoken clearly, the fire in her voice and eyes lending weight to her words. Afterwards, when she briefly touched her shoulder, the girl blinked, then offered a shy smile before catching herself and scowling. It was good to see Scar was a man of integrity, and a squad was dispatched within minutes to bring the perpetrators in.

The commander had assured Tenya that justice would be served, and seriously, she warned him that if it were not, the repercussions would be great and terrible. Gravely, Scar replied that justice was the cornerstone of civilisation, the bedrock of the city, and the Fist were there to serve and see justice done.

Vai looked on in approval, nodding now and then. Viconia was curiously absent from the conversation, while Aerie offered encouraging smiles. Xan knew better than to comment, and Kivan held his peace as always. Later Sendai observed him seeking Tenya out alone and vowing that if the Fist failed, his bow would not. Surprising both of them, Tenya enveloped the stoic elf in a fierce hug, leaving Kivan standing awkwardly for the first time since they'd known him. She caught the latter end of the conversation, but it was enough.

"Vai has informed me of your part…" Scar's steady gaze swept the room, "All your parts. From Nashkel to Larswood to Cloakwood, you have performed a great service for the people of this realm." A deliberate pause followed, "The Grand Dukes will want to thank you personally, but for now, may I extend their thanks."

Coran was about to drawl, but a sharp look stilled his tongue. He then did his best not to meet Illasera's direction.

Though she would have preferred to stay silent, Sendai spoke, "Am I to assume that you need us for another task?"

Her look was pointed, and Scar exchanged a rueful glance with Vai's unyielding stare. More quietly, the commander allowed, "This business with the Iron Throne remains unfinished. I do not need to tell you this. The documents you recovered… they are not sufficient proof, but amongst the ledgers are contracts marking you for death. For your part in Nashkel and dispersing the Black Talons and the Chill, the 'Throne will stop at nothing." Not given to lengthy speeches, Scar hesitated.

Vai continued, "We have made inquiries of our own. The implication of Zhentish agents was, as we suspected, a ruse. Additionally, the Merchant's Consortium is failing, and with its decline, the Throne has risen high. It is now a major hindrance to the city's safety, and one not easily dislodged."

"Remove them," Viconia suggested callously.

"We are not in the Underdark," Sendai told her, then tuned to Vai, "you have not yet told us what you want."

"You have done so much already," Scar took over, then met his subordinate's eyes, then hers again, "someone needs to infiltrate the Throne. Somehow who is not known, and outside of my jurisdiction. Someone we can trust."

She didn't sigh.

"We will investigate the other merchant companies," Vai added, looking at her directly, "all we need is for you to recover evidence – hard evidence – of what the Throne is plotting."

"Such a thing will not be easy." Coran commented.

"It is, of course, highly illegal…" Scar cleared his throat, "we cannot charge them formally. If you are caught…"

"We are marked for death," Illasera cut in, "and you send us into the lion's den?" She bristled.

"If we cannot recover the ledgers…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Vai allowed grimly, "They'll be hidden, somewhere away from the other official documents. We cannot sanction an interrogation."

Sendai nodded slowly.

"I-if we don't do t-this…" Aerie began.

"Then the city's lost." Scar finished for her.

Kivan shouldered his bow, his eyes fixed on some distant point.

Vai's sympathy went unacknowledged, but her gentle words reached the elf, "We are trying to link Tazok to the Throne. All we have are two letters. If he is involved, there will be a paper trail."

He nodded grimly.

Xan sighed to himself. Once again, they were risking death, capture and torment.

"Succeed and you will be absolved of any… necessary deeds."

"Fail, and we die." A sardonic note entered Xan's words, as he spoke for the first time, bitterly.

Tenya folded her arms.

"You're staying here with Vai," Sendai told her gently.

"No, I'm–"

The drow's look silenced her. Viconia almost smirked, but as always when Sendai addressed the girl, the outside world ceased to exist. "We will not be gone long, and we'll be back for you."

"What if you don't?" Despite herself, she had to ask.

"Then Jessa will take you to the temple, and you'll be cared for there."

"You can't know that."

Everyone had something else to look at, although Aerie, Vai and Scar were filled with sympathy. Breaking the age old adolescent protocol, Sendai placed a kiss on her forehead, and took her hands. "The merchants and the thugs of this city cannot overcome The People," she squeezed gently, "If two drow can ally with four elves of differing backgrounds and an avariel, see justice done on those murdering fishermen, and hold audience with two of Baldur's Gate's most senior officers, what can barterers of wares do to stop us?"

Tenya nodded, then found herself pulled close. "Vai will take care of you. Two nights." The drow met the officer's eyes and something passed between them.

"I'm not a child," Tenya protested half-heartedly, with what was fast becoming her favourite phrase.

"Of course not," Sendai touched the girl's cheek, "and Xan's not a mighty practitioner of the Arts, or Aerie an adept of the Arts and divine, nor Viconia a devotee of the ancient rites."

Tenya made a face.

"Kivan can bring down a wyvern in flight in the forest; Coran can take its other eye and my sister will beat them both to its throat and end its throes. We will return for you."

Tenya nodded, then abruptly returned the hug. Refusing to bury her face, instead the girl glared up at her teacher, "You'd better, or I'll… join the temple and call your spirit back and trap it in a jar!"

Scar gently cleared his throat at the mention of illicit magic…

Sendai ignored him and smiled. Not even two days, and she already couldn't imagine life without her; shared loss and so similar a situation… she had Illasera; Tenya had no one. She understood the helplessness, the pain. What it was to grow up away from others, never to know who her father was, and unlike Tenya, hear only brief snatches of Illasera's mother but never her own. Then she nodded to her companions; even becoming coming here, they had already decided to break into the Throne.


	34. Guilt

XXXIV

The plan was simple. Scout the surrounding region, hole up nearby and strike at dusk. Posing as merchants was dismissed almost as soon as the thought struck them; they were far too distinctive. They could disguise themselves with magic, but many merchant buildings were warded against such things, mostly to stop lead in place of gold. It was too long in the coming.

"This is a fool's errand," Viconia argued.

"Enough," Illasera barked, and amazingly, the drow held her peace. The fair-skinned elf was already testing her daggers, her compound bow neatly sheathed. Her eyes held the same light as Kivan's.

—

"S-so why d-did you bring her along?" Aerie wanted to know, careful not to meet Sendai's gaze. The two were alone in their room at the Elfsong, their spellbooks open in front of them; the others prepared, each in their own way. Coran in the tavern; Xan meditating, Illasera and Kivan sharing silence, Tenya sleeping. Viconia occupied herself in prayer, taking a corner in the other room under Illasera's watchful eye. Gateclose had been and gone. The city was at its quietest in these last rays of daylight.

The drow didn't answer.

"S-Sendai?"

"Viconia."

"I – I don't understand."

"The 'stray' needed looking after. Rivvil or not."

"I-is this about Valaris…?" The blonde elf bit her lip.

Sendai's eyes locked onto hers and scrutinised for a moment. Aerie baulked.

"It – it wasn't your fault, you know."

"He made his choice."

"S-sorry."

Folding her hands in her lap, Sendai's stare eased a little.

"I… hated it," She studied the floor. "The mines. Xan too." Hastily she swallowed, and wet her lips.

"Why did you come? You could have remained outside." At her smile, Aerie looked up.

"You make me feel safe…"

The drow reached across and squeezed the elf's hand.

"I… liked him… Valaris… why'd he do it? Go on alone…"

Sendai shook her head wordlessly.

"What h-happens afterwards?"

"I don't know."

"Y-you don't?"

"We… find those responsible. After that, I don't know."

"But su-surely you have some idea…?"

She didn't answer.

—

"Stop sulking, sister."

Sendai looked up, her eyes tightening.

"Thinking about it won't help." Illasera did not fold her arms, or set her fists on her hips, but rested them on her dagger pommels instead. "You didn't see it coming."

"Talking to Aerie?" The drow asked with just a touch of acid.

"Spite doesn't become you."

She drew herself up, her stare cold. "Are you done yet?" Her words were clipped.

"Stop it. You're not angry with me. You're angry with yourself. You should have seen it coming, but you didn't."

"Enough!"

"Was it that he jammed the portal to stop us from following, or to stop others from coming after him? Or was it that you didn't recognise his magic?"

"I said enough!" Trembling, she forced herself to still, and released a deep breath, "I don't appreciate this."

"Someone had to say it. You're too up yourself, even for you. We're about to storm an enemy stronghold; I need to know my sister isn't going to act rashly out of some crazed notion of guilt." Softening, the fair elf added, "Had my sister fallen, I would have acted as he, as would you. That's the real reason for this."

Finally, Sendai allowed a taut nod.

"I'm not going to die sister, neither are you. If I do, you'll come down to the hells to find me."

The drow couldn't bring herself to smile.

Nothing more needed to be said.


	35. Unholy Union

XXXV

Bodhi paced. Cythandria smiled sweetly, "Sarevok will see you now." Inwardly, the mage seethed; she was no errand girl. Her delicate nose lifted slightly, and she fixed Bodhi a veiled look of disdain. The vampiress, bound in tight strips of leather, ignored the green-clad mage. Strutting past, Bodhi shoved open the door before the other woman could hold it for her. Sweeping the room with a gaze matched only by Sarevok in arrogance, she rolled her shoulders and hips as she made herself comfortable. For Bodhi, 'comfortable' meant shifting from one foot to the other, doing her best impression of a swaying serpent, not that she ever saw it that way. Cythandria and Tamoko's hard stares meant nothing.

Sarevok, in loose tunic, and tight breeches, leaned forwards in his chair. He hadn't offered one to his guest. The small stone room was warmed by a single hearth, and overlooked the south side of Baldur's Gate. Pulling his gaze from the window, his golden eyes locked onto the vampiress. His arm was no longer a stump, and he frequently rubbed his wrist unconsciously.

Bodhi began to speak.

"Heh."

Cythandria and Tamoko exchanged glances. They now shared a common rival.

—

Rieltar Anchev addressed his son coldly; a man used to being obeyed, he was nevertheless shorter and leaner than the muscled giant. With arrogance only a mage could muster, he kept his words clipped and to the point; here, away from the veneer of finery and the nobles' dance, there was no need for eloquence and pretty speeches. "You will wed Silvershield's daughter."

Sarevok expressed no emotion.

Explaining the benefits was a waste of breathe; Rieltar expected him to stay abreast of current affairs. "I have taken pains to arrange this 'political alliance', and this union will seal your ascension to the council."

"Heh."

"It's no laughing matter, boy!" The leader of the Iron Throne snapped, "Put away your concubines and maintain the appearance of a good son. It won't be long now."

Sarevok's glowered, though his face was smooth.

"Brunos and I will be in Candlekeep conducting 'negotiations' with the Knights of the Shield. Entar Silvershield's brats will be accompanying us. After the wedding, Entar will be… dealt with. You are in charge of our operations here until then."

Sarevok didn't answer.

"Be grateful boy; after you've given me an heir, you can take as many women as you like. What you do with your wife after that…" Rieltar licked his lips, "Breaking the girl of her attitude is something you'll enjoy. I'm tempted to have her for myself. A sixteen year old for your stepmother?" Rieltar hardened, the veiled threat hanging. "You'll join me at Candlekeep in a tenday. I want you out of the city by then. Tidy up any loose ends."

A clipped nod was Sarevok's only response.

"And… deal with Davaeron. He is not to be raised."

—

"But I don't want to get married," Skie complained loudly, shaking out her hideous dress, "I'm too young."

"Sarevok's so handsome," her maid rebuked her, making doe eyes as she clutched her hands together, "everyone _loves_ him."

"He's so _boring_."

"But he's so _strong_. Those arms… that chest… his thighs…" The maid giggled.

Skie sighed.

—

"Pack your things," Vai told Tenya curtly, dismissing the small room with a glance. "You're coming with me."

Tenya glowered, "Where're we going?"

"Out of the city." The redheaded officer gentled slightly, "That is, unless you want to stay cooped up in here?"

The girl shook her head avidly.

"Then pack your things."

"But where are we going?" She insisted.

"There's a problem to the northeast; the farms there claim to have an infestation of zombies."

"Why aren't the paladins handling it?"

"They're busy. Now are you coming or not?"

Sullenly, Tenya nodded.

"Good. And girl? No insubordination."

"You're not my mother."

"No, I'm your commanding officer, cadet. Straighten your tunic and stand tall."

"I'm not one of your soldiers! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Then you're staying here, on your own. Scar's too busy to babysit."

"This is so unfair!" Shaking out her rumpled blue tunic, Tenya jumped to her feet, "I'm supposed to wait for Sendai anyway!"

"Sendai doesn't want you." The officer told her shortly. Tenya gasped, her eyes bulging. Vai ignored it, "you're a child, a burden. She has enough to worry about without taking care of you."

"I'm – I'm going back to the temple! You can't stop me!"

"Good. They won't tolerate your sulking there."

"Sulking?" Tenya spluttered in outrage, too shaken to find her usual biting retort.

"You've been brooding ever since she left. You won't join us for meals, you just sit here and stare glumly. I've had enough of it. You've got your marching orders, so get your things."

"I hate you!"

"Then I'll be forced to tell Sendai how uncooperative you've been in her absence, and recommend that she packs you off to your temple."

"You – you're _mean_!"

Vai's smile was cold, her grey eyes sharp. "I don't have time to mollycoddle you. If I'd taken you in, I would expect better than adolescent ingratitude. You don't deserve to be her protégé; I'm surprised she's not taken a strap to your hide."

"She – she wouldn't do that!"

"Some drow she is."

"I – I won't listen to – to your slander!"

"At least you're showing some backbone."

Her glower reached new depths of sullenness. "Fine."

"Are you coming? Or will you stay here like a spoilt brat?"

"I said 'fine'! You're worse than my mother! Leave me alone!"

"Be out in five minutes."

—

Tenya couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Angrily, she gathered up her things, and stuffed it into the pack Vai had wordlessly left on the stood. Kicking shut the door, she glanced at the wash-bucket and bit her lip. Balling her hands, she angrily clenched her lower lids and mentally protested. She wasn't a burden; Sendai did want her. It was a lie to motivate her. It had to be. They'd only been gone a day and a half… Shaking herself, she obstinately rolled up and stuffed her spare clothes down hard. There was already a bedroll attached to the pack, and it was unlikely Vai would _walk_. She refused to cry; her mother would never have tolerated such weakness. Vai was right: Sendai _was_ too soft on her. Scuffing her straw with a kick, she looked at the cold flagstones and sighed. This was a cell with a single bunk, a stool, a chest and a bucket. She _was_ behaving like a child… Zombies, hah. She'd show Vai; she'd show them all. Snatching up the pack, she shouldered it and marched from the room, determination lighting her eyes.

Vai smiled slightly, "Ready?"

Hating Vai, Sendai, and most of all herself, Tenya nodded sharply.

"I hope you can ride. If not, you're doubling with me."

Today just kept getting worse. She glared.

"We're returning for sundown, and if you straggle, you'll be left behind."

"I – I can't ride."

"Didn't think so. Now let's move out." Vai paused long enough to hand her a stout, iron-capped stick. "Any zombies come near you, run. Otherwise you hit them in the head."

"I know how to swing a stick!"

"We'll see. Enough chatter."

As loathe as she was to admit it, she was beginning to respect Vai. Sympathy and kindness were weakness. (Unless it was Sendai, but Sendai was different, the girl allowed privately).


	36. Massacre at Amkethran

XXXVI

Imoen woke from the dream with a start. Gingerly, she reached and rubbed her eyes. It had been so _real_. Taking a shaky breath, she steadied herself, trying to hold onto the vision. Everything was murky, but then it had been clear…

In her mind, she stared at him, tracing his slender elfin features. His arms had since enfolded her, his thumb stroking south of her throat, his fingers the side. A single blink, and her cupped chin could be wrenched, her neck snapped. How long had she lain there staring at him? In the dream, she didn't know. Somehow, she dissolved into tears and buried her face against him. He hadn't made any move to claim her, but ran his fingertip over some of her scars. It made her shiver. She had already decided to give Nara to him, a blonde girl with one elven great-grandparent… she might even watch, if it pleased her.

He face contorted as he shot her a nasty look, wondering aloud if they're were to make a baby; 'black widow', he named her. Pulling a face, she retorted he was 'all buffleheaded'; any child would grow up to kill them. Leaning forward, and smiling darkly, she purred, 'trust me, brother.'

Slipping around her neck, his hand drew her close…

"Mistress?" Nara appeared at the doorway, eyes downcast. Imoen's were flinty, her composure instantly recovering. "They – they're ready. You said to–"

"Stop yer yammering," The pink haired young woman smiled without feeling it, "Bring me me shirt; the black one."

"They're all black…" Nara moved to obey.

Imoen went through the motions of a short laugh. There was something altogether too real about the dream for her liking; it left a foul taste in her mouth. Something in his voice…

—

"Where is he?" The fey-ri demanded, no longer anything but a mask of calm fury. She brought the katana down on her foe's bracer; Balthazar deflected it effortlessly. All around them, the two forces clashed; monks clothed in simple dirtied cloth and gold mailed mercenaries against the elven-demonic host. Blood, screams and the scent of bodily fluids and excrement filled the air. The dying; the taste of steel. The sands were awash with red. There was nothing glorious about the slaughter, nothing graceful about the severed limbs and trailing entrails, crushed bodies and armour. No quarter was given. None was asked.

"You'll meet him when I return you to the hells," Balthazar promised. In the midst of the fighting, the kensai had led the charge, springing the ambush. From the ruins of his town, Balthazar pushed to the gates of the monastery. Whether here, or at Valaris' enclave, the monk's ambition was to destroy all trace of his foe. At the enclave, he had been cheated. Here, he made his stand; the town's sacrifice was worth it. Any price was worth it, to destroy his sire's tainted spawn.

The coal-haired elf fought like a wild cat, her porcelain complexion splattered with gore, her daggers singing a hymn of death. The host chanted their master's name, seemingly coming alive as they did. It should not have been possible, but their faith gave them strength. Even the demons believed. The mercenaries' square began to waver. A thousand individual skirmishes broke out, the horde throwing themselves against the monks, three to one. Scales, claws and blades met human fist and foot; sinew snapped, flesh rent, bodies torn asunder.

Imoen stepped out of her impromptu portal, unseen by all. Sensing her, Balthazar twisted; blocking the katana with his forearm. The kensai unleashed a frenzy of blows; where most would abandon technique for sheer fury, she kept hers, unrelenting as she drove down. It was all he could do to hold his ground; trying to sidestep the fey-ri, his eyes widened as Imoen's dagger slid neatly through his back.

"Give my regards to Daddy," she whispered, her cheek pressing against his. Then she tugged the blade free and stepped backwards; the kensai gave chase through an eruption of golden dust. The portal closed.

The host devoured the few remaining monks. The mercenaries had already broken; the dark haired elf gave chase. With her were Valaris' faithful. The massacre of Amkethran wasn't over yet.


	37. Roads and Journeys

XXXVII

Now they were outside of the city, Tenya had to admit that things weren't quite so bad. She shot Vai an upwards glance; she was surprised the officer had sat her in front, but it allowed for a better view, so she wasn't complaining. She clung to the saddlehorn, and tried not to think about the cumulative effects of each bump. She wasn't used to this, and after three hours, she was beginning to feel it. Vai, however, seemed remarkably unfazed, as she scanned this way and that, constantly on the alert. Nothing seemed to pass her by.

It struck her that the redhead had remained oddly quiet, and hadn't offered a single remark about anything, really. Even when she leaned back against the woman, Vai tolerated it, as if their earlier 'discussion' had never happened. She would never admit it to anyone, not even Sendai, but she rather liked Vai's arms around her as the Flaming Fist held the reins. It made her feel safe. It was not a feeling she had felt for some time, and not something she wanted to like; it was weakness. She berated herself for being pathetic, but somehow the words just didn't stick. It _was_ nice to be out of the compound, away from the stench of sweat, the damp, the chill and worse. No wonder Vai was so cranky. But that was being altogether too reasonable and generous, and she really ought to be focusing on thoughts of vengeance instead.

Really though, she was enjoying the sunshine and fresh air too much. The city really, really stank. A growing urge finally broke her silence; her curiosity had been piqued ever since Sendai had entered the Flaming Fist Compound. "How do you know her?"

"Who?" Vai didn't look down, but reined the horse in to avoid a hole in the badly kept road.

"You know, her."

"Sendai?"

The girl nodded, displaying a hesitance that made her scowl.

Vai considered for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "By chance." Slowly, she began to tell the tale, her voice low enough for Tenya's ears to strain, but not enough to be swallowed up completely by the hooves and whinnies.

For once in her life, Tenya listened. Six of them had ridden out and up until now the banter and smalltalk was kept to a minimum. With Vai's account, the others began to perk up, or so it seemed.

—

There was something cold about Rieltar, something beneath his smile that she didn't like. His eyes were not his mouth, and there were a dozen other places she would rather be. With a sigh, she nudged her brother.

"Hm?"

"Are we there yet?"

"If we were there, you wouldn't be asking."

Skie stuck her tongue out at him. Why was he so reasonable? After a moment, she couldn't help but join in with his smile. She loved him so much; how awful it would be if she had to make this journey alone? Daddy never had enough time for them, and Mother was just boring. Always doting on Eddard… as much as she loved him, she had to admit he was a little stuffy at times too. Too concerned with pleasing 'Father' and following his 'duty'. Why, he had almost gone off and taken that silly contract to guard a caravan had their governess not put her foot down; that was such a _bore_. She had to listen to hours about 'irresponsibility'; she was surprised Eddard hadn't packed his bags and run away; she certainly wanted to. But Eddard had listened, and shamed, he apologised and declared he would stand by his family. In this case, that meant his sister.

It was such a _long_ trip. It was nice for the first couple of hours, but after that, the scenery got boring. The Friendly Arm Inn could've been fun, but the entire wing was locked down. Eddard had made her maid promise to tell him if she took a 'midnight stroll'; so unfair of him! She had planned on it anyway, but then she caught one look from him and she immediately felt ashamed. She felt so bad for dragging him out here to begin with, especially when there was that nice young lady he had a thing for. What was her name? Cy-something? Some mage-type – so boring. But he could have been back in the Gate with his friends instead of being stuck here with her. He'd never hear the end of it if their governess found out, or 'Father', or Mother, so for his sake, she refrained. It was still a close call. Had he not smuggled her a bottle to share, she might have gone. It had only taken two cups and she was fast asleep, and hadn't even regretted it the next day. Eddard kept the bottle with them, and they finished it over the next three days. He knew her so well.

Skie sighed, and stared at the endless trees as the carriage rolled along. Cloakwood was so – so dull. How could _anyone_ like nature? There was nothing to do! How she wished Eldoth was here. At least he could sing and keep her entertained. Maybe the monks would have some good stories; Daddy said they had the most comprehensive library of works ever assembled on Faerûn, but even if they had, her bard wouldn't be there to sing to her. Why hadn't he come along? In fact, why hadn't he bothered to even bid her farewell? It was a thing that troubled her, though she couldn't share that with anyone, not even her maid. Eddard'd be furious if he learnt of her liaisons, not that anything had really happened. Well, not _really_. But it was just so _boring_ at home.

"I think I broke a nail," she commented absently.

"How?"

She shrugged, sucking her finger.

"Stop that," Her brother chided gently.

Skie rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. Just another day… and then trapped in that silly monastery. How could anyone ever stand living there? Well, she'd just have to find something to entertain herself with; perhaps there were some books of interest. Maybe she'd make Eddard read them, when he wasn't too busy playing 'guard duty' and 'captain' to the few men he'd brought along. Really, was any of this necessary? Marriage… who wanted to be married anyway? Wasn't Daddy rich enough? He was supposedly the richest in the entire city! Why did he need more? She didn't even _like_ Sarevok; Eddard certainly didn't, but then, boys never liked each other. Always too busy butting chests… she giggled under her breath, careful not to let Eddard guess her thoughts. It was so silly the things boys did to impress girls. Perhaps she could see if Sarevok would bring her flowers; she rolled her eyes. Just another silly, boring boy… why did she have to marry him?

At least she wasn't riding with Rieltar. It was bad enough dining with him.

—

Eldoth's scream cut off sharply. Sarevok wrenched the second Sword of Chaos from the bard. Apathetically, he regarded his victim, and unconcerned, sheathed the blade without cleaning it. It wasn't the same as the first one; this one was weaker, but it was growing stronger. He needed to feed it. Death would increase his power, and with each kill, the blade grew in strength also. This particular murder gave him no pleasure; there was no ecstasy, no thrill, no elation, there was nothing. It didn't feel right, somehow. It left him broody. Killing once was no longer enough; to savour the rush, he needed slaughter. Only then, when he lost himself in the frenzy could he really enjoy what he was.

Without a backwards glance, he left the small, darkened chamber.

—

Watching him leave, Bodhi shifted from foot to foot, and closing in, began purring. From the shadows, Valen observed her mistress performing the same rite that stripped her of mortality. Fangs flashed downwards. Detachment washed over Valen; until recently, Bodhi had needed her victims to be alive. Now, she could turn them after the moment of death, providing it was still fresh. An interesting development.

She also noted that those raised came to faster than before. Moments later, Eldoth's eyes opened, and the bard gasped.

"Hello little songbird," Bodhi leaned in close, each syllable, each word delectable, music to her slaves ears, "I've a task for you…" Her face still beside his, her eyes locked on Valen's, no hint of warmth present, "You're to retrieve something for me… and I know just who to lead you to it."

Valen bowed her head.

"Not you, my pretty black lily, you I have something special for."

The vampiress listened in silence.

"As for us, little songbird? We're going to Candlekeep."

Her orders were simple, Valen decided, _"Cythandria. Distract her."_


	38. Visiting the Throne

XXXVIII

Marble floors and silk drapes greeted them; statues set in niches, alcoves and vast windows. Even at night, the Iron Throne was far from deserted. Guards patrolled, as was expected, while others stood on duty. What, or whom, they were expecting was not of concern: all that mattered was they were vigilant, and their numbers were many. Valaris' revenge had failed, but his attempt had lessened the chances of their infiltration's success. The upper echelons were guarded by a wall of flesh-wielding steel and wards.

Illasera took matters in her own hands. Kivan joined her.

Sendai's lips were tight, the only sign of tension in her. Aerie kept from covering her mouth, and hung back a step, knuckles white as she gripped her satchel. The drow offered a brief smile, acknowledging the other's determination; Xan offered nothing, his eyes fixed on some distant point. The alarms went off, the wards tripped. Xan's lips moved wordlessly. Coran offered a half nod of his own, and he and Viconia set off into the night, a flicker playing across the latter's lips.

"Come," Sendai murmured to Aerie, releasing her own invocation upon Xan. The dour elf fizzled out of sight; by the time the shimmering air stilled, the two were hidden and half way across the hall. Moments later, they ascended the stairwell and paused before Illasera's handiwork. The door was no longer guarded.

Aerie's gasp was slight, her swallow audible, but she held her peace. Sendai began to work on the wards; far below, a blast shook the building, Viconia's contribution sealing the front gates from inside. By now, further guards were on their way. Aerie released her own spell; the fallen rose. Twisted mockeries of life, they stood without grace, their sightless comprehension awaiting her bidding. The avariel tried not to cringe, but mentally commanded they guarded the stairs. They shambled off, six strong. A moment later, Sendai was done; the drow threw her a look, wordlessly understanding, found her hand and together, they stepped inside.

For a few seconds, she saw a grey, gangly creature; then she saw herself, and noticed how pale she looked…


	39. Candlekeep

XXXIX

"We have found evidence pointing towards Zhent agents."

Skie didn't listen to the rest, but sighed; could it _get_ any more boring? Rieltar was even less fun than Daddy, and a great deal more creepy. Brunos, Rieltar's partner, looked like his grandfather was a half orc, his mother a lawyer, and he seemed just as bull-headed. The Knights of the Shield were even worse than the few paladins she'd had the misfortune of meeting. There were six of them, and she couldn't decide which bored her most. More stuck up than… a flash caught the corner of her eye. She glanced around; no one else seemed to have seen it. There it was again. They were so caught up in their 'negotiation' that only Rieltar noticed her leave, and his was a sharp jerk indicating she could go. Not that she needed his permission.

Candlekeep was wonderful; so many books. It was a pity it was full of stuffy old monks. She had spent a pleasant morning stealing away with an absolutely fascinating book on the history of Baldur's Gate, detailing the lives and trials of some of the early settlers and their various struggles and challenges. Having been so engrossed she missed lunch, it was only when she realised Eddard was looking for her that she left her perch. It was the perfect spot, secreted away from others, high up and accessible from the inn; just a short climb away and balancing along the wall. A child growing up here would have loved it. What a wonderful place to rain nuts down on unsuspecting passers-by! But what sort of child would want to grow up here? Skie was certain that aside from the books, any child would be miserable; inwardly she fussed, had she caught her nail again? Climbing wasn't hard; it just didn't do her nails any good.

There it was again! Skie scowled and followed the glint; it seemed almost like a mirror's flash. She rounded the corner.

"Hello mousy, mousy."

Her mouth hung open as black-clad arms, white and slender, snatched her and a sharp prick pierced her skin; outside, the screaming began.


	40. Madness is Hereditary?

XXXX

"I'm disappointed with you, brother."

"Gromnir follow what you say!"

"Nup, you were supposed ta ambush ole Balthy, 'member?" Shaking her head, Imoen toyed with her knife, using the tip to pick out imaginary dirt from under her fingernails. "'Stead you tried to betray me."

"Gromnir did!"

"When did I say to attack?" Her knife paused.

The light in Gromnir's eyes grew frenzied, "Gromnir do–"

"'Member ole Amelyssan?"

"You–"

"Yup, me." She pointed with the blade, no trace of mirth in her, "Melly made me very cross; do you want to make me cross, Gromnir?"

"N-no! Gromnir not 'fraid of you!"

"Bad choice of words; I was gonna let you off with a warning," She sighed almost regretfully, then her brown eyes hardened. "But now you've just gone and done it. Ya had to say it, didn't you? One chance is all ye get, Grom."

"Gromnir – Gromnir not sorry."

"Pity. I was gonna leave ya alone." She leaned closer, "See, there's only space for one on Daddy's throne, but there's plenty of space by me feet." Straightening, she apparition met the half orc's eye, ignoring the madness within. "You've been naught enough to try to betray me, and I won't stand for it. Now I'll have to punish you."

"Gromnir not 'fra–"

She didn't listen to the rest. The image of the camp and the desert faded, and she glanced at the collared illithid. "Quit that," Absently, she rolled her wrist and with it, her knife, "he's not for you." The smile that lit her features was brilliant. "Now come here."

Unable to disobey, the illithid padded over. It towered over her, taller by two heads. She seized the foremost of the creature's four tentacles, and the knife came up; the hate in its eyes didn't give her pause, her own musing did. Reaching a decision, her smile returned, "You'll have to wait." Neatly, she pulled the knife up.

—

"My lord…" The fey-ri sank to her knees, her bat wings opened wide. Her tail dipped in deference. A strangled look tormented her features as she stared at the life-sized bell jar. Through the green glass, she stared at the floating figure.

"Yup." Imoen agreed, standing beside her.

"Forgive me…" She bowed her head, "Had I known…"

"But ya didn't. So quit it, an' get up already. You look real silly like that." The pink haired girl cocked her head to one side, "It's not like he can hear ya anyway. Or maybe he can." She shrugged.

Struggling to contain herself, the fey-ri turned to the young woman, "My lady…"

"No need ta thank me," Imoen uttered a short, sardonic laugh, heavily laden with self-awareness and irony, "He's me brother." Then she giggled, "An' he thought glitterdust'd never work… hey no, no touching. Hands off." Shooing the fey-ri from the jar, she added, "No need ta wake him just yet. Things to do first."

The demonfey hardened.

"Like Gromnir." It was Imoen's hardened and the two shared a look. Something passed between them.

"What is your bidding?"

"Weeeeell, I kinda like my chocolate hot, an' stirred…" She cut off with a giggle at the other's silent outrage. "Just trust little ole me; you'll see. Heh, you'll all see." Her mouth might have been smiling, but her eyes held only steel.

—

"Well, brother, how does it feel to be dead?" Imoen giggled, watching as the elf's eyes snapped open. His unblinking gaze adjusting as he floated, Valaris remained tight-lipped.

"Aw, c'mon. Even 'Reni grunted. Say, wanna see something fun? I've got the bestest treat fer you. Look to the left, nope, other jar. Yup, that one. Watch real close; but first, I gotta ask: how much a ring can regenerate? Answer? More than Sarevok's hand!"

As the fluids drained, he spluttered, gasping as the liquid carried him to his knees. His pale belly heaved, dry-retching, but he ignored it. The glass shimmered, then flared white, exploding outwards into powder, then nothing. Unconcerned, Imoen gestured; Nara ran over and draped a silken chamber-robe around his shoulders and retreated. Rising, Valaris looked on expressionlessly. His gaze fixed on the occupied jar. Irenicus stared back.

"Aw, don't be like that. I've got so much to tell you; you'll never guess what ole handless is using." Imoen giggled again, then fondly touched the glass. "'Sby the way," She cocked her head and glanced sidelong at him, "Yer wing-tail stopped by. Kinda sweet, really. She really thinks yer a god. Sent her ta pay a little visit to ole Buttnose; hoo boy, I wouldn't wanna get in _her_ way. Shoulda seen her; she's really crazy. Better watch yaself; she ain't happy with ya. Better remind her who's boss; hah, who'm I kiddin'? Ya doomed, brother."

She paused to straighten his robe, folding over and smoothing its edge. "Yer other lass is kinda cute; she's got pretty eyes, but I bet it's not them ya interested in. Nice hips, bit like yours." Her lips pursed, "Not even a little smile?" She sighed.

He didn't answer.

"S'wrong with you? Bad dreams or something?"

Momentary pain flickered; she reached out and caught his hand, squeezing. "I'm not mad at ya, not really. Maybe a little. S'all right; we'll get Golden Eyes, together."

Valaris nodded.

"Oh, almost forgot–" Releasing his hand, she leaned up on tiptoes, twisted and called over his shoulder. "Hey, tentacles, dinner time!"


	41. Once Denied

XXXXI

The once-grey, blackened bodies lay scattered, twitching. A few claws were raised, their death throes cut short. They had been distracted by the raised corpses that had fallen beside them. Aerie averted her eyes and tried not to inhale; Sendai shot her a reassuring look, but pressed on through the marble tiled hall. There was a wooden divide, panelled, a hallway, and rows upon rows of bookshelves in one partition. It lay empty.

"O-oh m-my…" As they passed through the door, Aerie quickly turned away flushing. Sendai's gaze was cold.

Before them, Cythandria looked up sharply; beneath her, Valen's head lifted. Twin teardrops of crimson ran down the first's fair skin; as annoyance morphed to surprise, her mouth began to work. Valen hissed, her flaws flexing.

Sendai didn't quite roll her eyes but uttered arcane syllables; before either of the pair could move, the drow's magic bound them. They went rigid within the sheets of the four-poster.

Aerie shivered, recoiling from Valen.

"I know."

The avariel managed a feeble nod. Then she cried out as her eyes caught sight of the discarded katana in the corner of the room. Sendai might have been carved from stone. Turning to the sheets, she began to tear strips and cast Aerie a hard look. The elf managed another nod, drew in a breath and closed her eyes. Melodically, she began to chant and Cythandria fell into a deep sleep; Sendai forced the makeshift gag inside the human's mouth. Aerie couldn't help but stare at her; even with her face contorted with hate, she was beautiful. Such long, fine hair, the colour of sunlit sandstone.

Starting with the bedside table, Sendai set about searching the chamber.

"W-what about…"

"Cast your wards."

Aerie nodded slightly more firmly this time.

—

Illasera joined them with Kivan some time later. A single look was all it took to suggest that they would not be disturbed. Proud and stubborn in her walk and face alike, Tamoko walked in front of Kivan. In her native Kara-Tur robe, she stood unarmed, a deep resentment simmering in her dark eyes. Behind her back, her wrists were bound with one of Kivan's spare bowstrings. Between her teeth, the robe's sash wound. The black silk was adorned with red symbols as a trim, and matched wooden pins tucked in her hair.

Sendai greeted her sister by simply holding up a leather-bound book.

Kivan's eyes deadened, if such a thing were possible, at the sight of Valen. Only Illasera and Sendai seemed at ease around the vampire.

"S-seems t-too easy." Aerie laughed nervously. It wasn't a comment she normally would have made, but she couldn't stand to bear the silence any longer; it was like being crushed by a great weight. "D-do we have e-everything?" She kept her eyes from the door.

Sendai did not smile, and her eyes were without warmth as she observed their hostages.

"D-do you have a plan?" She glanced towards the sheathed katana in the corner. Then she drew herself up, shakily set her shoulders, and marched over to it. Hefting it, she tried to tie it around her belt, and found herself frowning. Kivan, who had been watching the door, traced his way to her, and with a soft, dignity, his eyes met hers. Slowly, she handed him the sword, and silently, the archer fastened it to his own belt. Aerie nodded and he stepped back to his adopted post.

Tamoko watched, quiet fury warring with a strange consideration.

Wordlessly, Illasera turned and gestured the Kara-turan follow Kivan with her dagger. Then her eyes met her sister's, and Aerie moved to help as they pulled Cythandria and Valen from the bed.

"T-there's s-something else." As she studied Illasera, Aerie swallowed. "W-what did you find?"

"It's him." The elf answered grimly, her own fury barely restrained. "She." Her look bit into Tamoko's back, "had his armour."

Everything within Sendai seemed to stop, then with a force of will that was matched only by her grace, the drow nodded.

Aerie didn't like to ask who but she thought she had a pretty good guess.

Coldly, Sendai lifted the candle from the bedstand and placed it beneath the bed's curtain. The silk began to singe, smoke rising, and the flames took as the drow left without a backwards glance. With a shiver, Aerie followed after a moment's hesitation. Along the way, she salvaged a couple of the older, more interesting looking books from the shelf, while behind her the flames licked ever upwards.


	42. Candle in the Keep

XXXXII

The host of Valaris Aurasun, the Scourge of the South, marched on Saradush and besieged its mighty walls. Commanded by Gromnir, and his generals, the Bhaalspawn Berena Elkhan, Kuran 'the Black', Elar Had and Asmay Jahag, the city stood firm. Oris Nimblefinger and Alexander Ralisar had quit the gates to parlay with the invaders on Gromnir's orders. Discontent with the half orc, the pair had opposed many of his directives, and now, they knew they faced death: if the infernal elves did not slaughter them, Gromnir would.

Approaching the banner of Aurasun, the two were escorted to the fey-ri, and there she listened in silence. Realising that defection might be their only chance, the two Bhaalspawn offered a way into the city in exchange for their lives. Stoically, she watched; then her alu-fiends guards seized them. The two struggled but the tent was warded.

In full view of the gates, the host prepared the ancient rites. Beneath the Aurasun banner, the chanting host drowned out all cries, and the two Bhaalspawn were broken into golden dust. From the walls, Saradush's soldiers and citizens trembled; they knew they too would be sacrificed.

Gromnir sealed himself within his citadel, leaving his generals inside the city. Whispers that Imoen the Quick, the Shadow of the East, Knife of the West, and her agents had already infiltrated the city set a terror that marginalised the fate that awaited beyond the gates.

—

Sarevok quit Candlekeep by foot. Without his armour, a lesser man might have felt exposed. The second Sword of Chaos hung across his back, and he walked alone. Behind him, Candlekeep's hallowed halls were stained with blood. Grunting to himself, he wiped his palm across his upper arm; his hand still itched, and the gash served as a reminder of that. He would have sacrificed every limb he had a thousand times over to achieve his aims.

The doppelgangers had already slipped away; he would have his war. Rieltar was dead, struck down by 'Amnish agents', the Knights of the Shield. Brunos too. Such a _pity_ the Silvershield brat had perished, bravely fighting alongside his guards.

"Heh."

The guards had been the first to die, the doppelgangers assuming their form. The fool died facing his own men. Only he, Sarevok, had managed to escape. Even the horses had not been spared to prevent escape; a nice, if needless touch, if he thought so himself. He cast his gaze around; each side of the road was clear, but for the distant forests. The 'Knights of the Shield' had slaughtered even the monks. He frowned. He hadn't seen that little whore hadn't been amongst the dead. It didn't matter.

He encountered a Flaming Fist patrol an hour later. At first, the lead mistook him for a bandit, until his fellow realised who he was. He would have crushed their throats had he not needed them; marching into Beregost with the fools he would lead would lend weight to his appearance. Inside, murder's fire burned.

He didn't bother to explain, and they fell into line, startled by the bloodied, ragged tunic he wore. They never knew he carried the prophecies of Alaundo, secreted about his person. He was looking forward to breaking the news to Entar Silvershield, if the fool was still alive. Baldur's Gate should be in a state of panic; in his absence, the rest of the doppelgangers should have carried out a number of surgical strikes. Murder would have swept the city; it didn't matter if the nobles supported him or not, their families were to be attacked. Amnish agents.

He chuckled to himself.

Behind him, the Flaming Fist exchanged glances.

—

Keldath Ormlyr, mayor of Beregost, lay in a pool of his own blood. His acolytes littered the temple, struck down as they tried to flee. The Fist had posted a guard, a guard who had found himself unable to stop staring at Sarevok's golden gaze. Sarevok himself said nothing, but scanned the inside of the temple, amused by the carnage. Ormlyr was another nameless fool, but it pleased him to be rid of the pompous wretch.

Such a bold assassination, even in the dead of night, was a prelude to war. The Fist had declared martial law within the town, and set out to catch the culprit, sealing every tavern, placing barricades along the roads. With their already depleted numbers, they could barely hold their makeshift headquarters together.

There was no purpose to Ormlyr's demise beyond that it spread terror. Now, he, Sarevok, brought order. He addressed the people, and they rallied, out of fear, out of hate. He gathered them around the central houses, pitiful affairs that were only good as kindling, and called for volunteers. Many were afraid. He revealed the assault at Candlekeep, the murder of Eddard Silvershield, Rieltar Anchev, and the monks. Angry murmurs gripped the crowd.

The Fist weren't sure what to do; the mob was close to rioting. More cattle to be slaughtered; more bodies for the pyre. Months of being oppressed by bandits, and now, Amnish agents murdered their mayor? As much as the people of Beregost disliked, even despised their mayor, it was an assault on the town. For Candlekeep to be undone by such treachery was unthinkable.

"Stand ready." Sarevok told them, "take whatever arms you have." He opened up the smithy, much to Taerom Fuiruim's dismay. "I will return within a tenday." Then he left orders for the Fist to train them, while he and his escort headed towards Baldur's Gate. For the first time in months, the people of Beregost had a purpose. Many wept with fear, the fear of a war so terrible they might lose everything. Their sons, their husbands, their brothers… how many had died already?

Not enough, Sarevok thought, chuckling inwardly, as he left the pathetic town on horse. By the time he arrived, the city should have been locked down. He could almost taste the blood. His ascension was coming; he could feel it burning in his blood. Without looking back, he drove his heels into his steed's flanks, and the beast whinnied, then leapt forwards. His escort had to gallop to keep up. At least the Fist had managed something right: they had supplied their tavern-headquarters' stables with a couple of beasts.

Mercilessly, he made for the Friendly Amn, sparing neither rider nor horse. Along the way, they passed a small caravan train, driven by a gruff dwarf. Sarevok had almost ridden him out of the road. The caravan guards were numerous and nervous. An iron shipment from the Cloakwood mine. It vexed him but only a little. Such petty matters were beneath him now.

At the Inn, they changed steeds, leaving their bloodied ones to the gnome in the temple. Sarevok didn't care; he would have ridden them to death if it served his whim. Seizing a number of potions, he set out again. A couple of hours later, and they were at the bridge before Baldur's Gate. Their horses were exhausted, and he had run out of potions. He slowed, and rode on. The gates were closed.

It seemed symbolic: as the portcullis was raised, and the drawbridge lowered, it seemed nothing could stand in his way. He headed straight towards the Ducal Palace.


	43. Waiting for Word

XXXXIII

"Oh, now we've caught a vampire? Oh, what is the point?"

Viconia licked her lips. Intrigued and repulsed, Coran peered through the door's shutter. Valen sat chained to the cellar wall, the sunlight through the small barred hole reaching just before her feet. Xan turned away in despair.

Sendai looked grim. The news had reached them of the past night's events. Murders all across the city, high ranking officials and nobles struck down seemingly at random. Most of the noble estates had been hit. The Fist was trying to suppress anarchy, but they had been warned not to dare venture outside. Tamoko and Cythandria shared a separate cell, in different corners. Both sisters recognised Tamoko as being present that night; neither had voiced their thoughts about keeping their hostages alive, taking vengeance, or the interrogation that would almost certainly follow. The others had settled in; above the safe house sat an inn, and the city sewers ran close by.

Sendai sat in a corner, alone with her thoughts while Vai addressed her. The drow nodded here and there, and Vai sighed, fretful irritation and frustration gripping her. The news of doppelgangers had struck deeply; the previous night had left her with fewer resources than she would have liked, and the mages capable of detecting the mirrorkin were either dead or holed up. Anyone could be a doppelganger, even the mages meant to detect them. If word of this got out, there would be panic and mass rioting. That there were doppelgangers even in the Iron Throne was worrying enough; when had the mercantile cartel been taken over, or had it merely employed the doppelgangers' services? Cythandria had confessed to the presence of doppelgangers after Kivan tossed a severed head from one of the beasts at Vai's feet. He had not forgotten the bounty on bandit scalps, it seemed. Vai kept herself from pacing, but every so often, her left leg twitched. In contrast to Vai's forced calm, Sendai's was serene.

Kivan sat in a different spot, his bow across his knees. Aerie knelt beside him, tending to an old wound he carried. Illasera stood, facing Vai. Above them Vai's men had set up barricades in the streets for the 'purposes of containment'.

Then Vai made a comment about the weather. Sendai smiled.

"I'll be checking in soon enough. Until then…" The woman winced. "Keep an eye on them."

Sendai inclined her head slightly.

"It looks like you're right." Vai tapped the leather-bound book: the diary of Sarevok Anchev. "He'll claim it's a forgery, but." A small shiver crept across her. "The mind of a madman… the next Grand Duke."

Illasera leaned forwards; she had been resting against a wall. Waspishness fired her eyes. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I need to take this to Scar. The copy's complete?"

"Yes." Sendai glanced towards Xan. "We'll be here."

Vai let out a long sigh. "I don't like this. I'm sorry to involve you further, but it's not safe to leave."

"We understand." The drow leaned back. The cellar's small barred openings kept the darkness from covering them completely, but shadows cast by the passing clouds augmented the gloom. A number of oil lamps offered flickering light, and a foul smell that did nothing to detract from the cellar's own pungent aromas.

Illasera folded her arms.

Neither sister had told Vai that the diary's owner was the man they were hunting.

"I see." Vai matched the fair elf's look. "I'll fill you in as soon as I know what's going on."

"This city isn't safe." Sendai's words were soft, and directed towards Tenya and Chloe. Vai had set them on the far side of the cellar, well away from the captives. Aerie had spent most of the conversation hugging the urchin, but left her to tend to Kivan.

"Neither's the road."

Sendai acknowledged the point silently, as Xan set about checking and renewing the wards on their prisoners. Vai took her leave.

"Tenya." The drow caught the girl's attention. Once the girl finally came over, after a set of exchanged looks, ranging from sighing to obstinance, and restlessly collapsed in a graceless heap, Sendai smiled. "How was the farm?"

"Horrid." Pulling a face, Tenya sprawled. "There was this creep who called me 'mother'. His name was Bassilus and he had all these dead people gathered around him. The place was infested. It _stank_."

Extending a hand, sympathy gripped Sendai.

Wrinkling her nose, Tenya continued with a sigh. "Anyway, Vai wanted to ride away, 'cause I was there, but I knew the nasty man wouldn't let us leave."

"What happened?"

"I made the dead people fight for me. Then Vai rode towards him as he tried to make them obey him and she hit him in the face with her sword."

Sendai pulled her into a hug. Tenya wriggled loose with all the protest of a dignified adolescent.

"What's that for? I'm still here. It was exciting. I could feel them obeying me. I prayed to Umberlee."

"I'm glad you're well."

Tenya shrugged uncomfortably. "I… was thinking of you."

Sendai's eyebrow raised a little.

"When I was praying. I was saying the words, but I kept thinking of you." Sheepishly, Tenya looked away, but announced fiercely. "I wanted to make that horrible old creep dance like I made the dead people dance, but Vai wouldn't let me. She said that he was dangerous and there was a large bounty on his head. And we killed him. That means I get at least half, right?"

Smiling, Sendai touched her shoulder. "I'll talk to Vai about it."

"Really?" Her eyes shone.

"If you agree not to sneak out."

"But… it stinks in here. It's so boring."

"It isn't safe outside."

Tenya sighed loudly.

Sympathy touched her features again. "I want to sneak out too." The drow admitted softly.

"No you don't! I don't believe you."

She nodded solemnly.

"We could sneak out together."

"Yes, but who would talk to Vai then?"

"I guess…"

"She owes us coin too."

"Really? How much? Wait. You don't care about coin."

Sendai smiled, her poise perfect, and closed her eyes.

"T-Tenya?" Aerie called. The avariel was seated beside Chloe; the pair were playing some game or other. "W-we need a t-third."

The girl rolled her eyes. Sendai lifted her brow slightly. With an even louder sigh, Tenya left to join them. Sendai closed her eyes again.

—

"So, you're what passes for a vampire." Viconia stood in front of the closed door, alone in the cell. Valen hissed. The drow moved in front of the sunlight. "How much hunger can you stand?"

—

Coran squatted in front of Cythandria. The golden haired beauty smiled coyly with her eyes. The elf moved closer and she shifted, her head mirroring his motions.

Tamoko ignored the dance. Focused on some distant place, she withdrew into herself, preparing herself for death. Inwardly, she reflected on her choices. This failure carried shame, and with it, death, but the truth was, she had allowed herself to be captured. She recognised the elven maiden from that night, felt her presence, the hatred snarling and prowling within her, broadcast by those green, green fiery eyes. Tamoko should have reached for her mace, should have defended her lord's armour, selling her own life dearly, but she had already died inside. The man she followed had been consumed; she had watched the madness slowly devour him, and now, that man was gone. Her Sarevok had discarded her for that whore, and believed he would be born to godhood upon the pyre of shed blood his wars would bring. He would turn the whole world into his ascension pyre.

She had loved him for his ambition, his strength, his sheer will. She had slain his foes, guarded his back, aided him at every turn. Now that love was dead, murdered, as so many others had been murdered. In grief, in shame, she could only wait. Her Sarevok was dead, murdered by madness. When the elf girl, filled with vengeance, appeared, something in her failed. She, Tamoko used to have that conviction, so proud, so strong, but now there was emptiness, bitter ashes. Raising her mace would not have brought her honour; the battle was already lost, and so, she accepted her fate. That night, the city's nobles met theirs. Soon she would join them, but for now, she waited.

Xan entered the cell, and ignoring Coran's 'interrogation' of Cythandria, he slowly lowered himself to the flagstones. Cross-legged, he shared silence with Tamoko. For hours, they sat in stillness meditating on doom. Coran had since tired of trading kisses and quit Cythandria's company for Valen's and Viconia's. The golden haired woman seemed to sleep, but the elf and the Kara-Turan did not.


	44. What Remains

XXXXIV

Around him, the shards that were once embedded within him were spread out in a haphazard line. He had arranged them in as a new blade; less than half the shards from the moonblade and the first Sword of Chaos had pierced him. They were still covered in his blood. Valaris lifted the shattered handle of his moonblade. Within, he felt the souls he had absorbed, felt the geas, the pacts he had made with his fey followers. He felt… tired, and heavy. His elven body sagged, and here, in Imoen's enclave, he was as much a prisoner of his own flesh and the soul-binding rites as he was hers.

Great glass jars stood, the plunder of Irenicus' labs. Irenicus had been an elf, once, he learned, once the mage's mask was removed. For siphoning the soul of Yaga Shura, Imoen's pet illithid had consumed the mage's mind. Through the slave collar, Imoen had somehow accessed Irenicus' knowledge from her pet, and she had made a clone, a clone of him, Valaris.

She had shown it dreams, of another place, another time, or some bizarre nightmare where Sarevok had slain her. Then she set the clone free, leaving him to awaken within one of Bhaal's old temples. She had a portal connected to it. The place had become an inn since Bhaal's decline; the Friendly Amn. Close enough to Sarevok's city for the clone to strike, far enough not to be noticed. Imoen had even made a wager, betting the clone would weaken Sarevok enough for a mere mortal to finish off. She had even filled the clone with glitterdust, laughing as she envisioned the look on Sarevok's face when he learned the truth. There was a wild intensity that was too sane to be mad in her eyes; buried beneath was the shadow of grief, rage and hate. Then she squeezed his shoulder and placed a kiss on his brow.

He didn't know what to make of it. The whispers muted to a dull buzz; voices of the slain, spirits he had bound in the sword, then in him. He could feel his old master, the disappointment, the guilt, the betrayal, and the sense of having failed. He had broken the old elf. When had he broken?

Looking at the shards, he began to count the cost of his mad ambition. Irenicus' mask hung from one of the glass jars; the elf's husk of a body floated in the green liquid, soulless, mindless. From here, Imoen had japed about creating an army of soldiers, of assassins. Fey-ri by the thousand; alu-fiends by the tens of thousand. It was all possible, it was all here. To unleash a blood war upon Faerûn that could never be defeated. Isn't that what he wanted, she challenged, staring him straight in the eye, the edge of madness dancing in hers. To destroy everything that was not of 'The People'; to become the next 'Creator Race'? The '_Iquar'Tel'Quessir_' she cited in elfish, the 'Sarrukh' she echoed in the common tongue. They would be more powerful. It was all there.

Her words haunted him. Her finger had lifted his chin, and after she let it fall, her phantom warmth was still there. His scarred sister, her body bore of murder, bearing the marks of war, of avoided death, battered, beautiful. A human. His strength seeped out of him, as if draining from him the way Irenicus drained Yaga Shura's strength before he tore out the Fire Giant's soul. His eyes fixed on the nearest glass jar. How many clones had Imoen already made? Had she copied herself? Had she copied him?

Amelyssan's head floated in one. Its vacant gaze stared into emptiness. Imoen had commented as she tossed the priestess' head into the green liquid that perhaps she would animate it as a mouthpiece for when she held 'Daddy's throne'. Then she laughed, a sneer twisting her lips, and smiled at him. The smile was bright, warm, and held none of the bitterness her laugh had. It seemed to look through everything he had become and everything he was, and for a moment, seemed to see him as… something. But its memory lingered.

Was it worth it? Was any of it worth it? His people were in decline, but most of The People would never have accepted him until his ascension and even then… even if his followers cleansed Faerûn and he saw the other gods die from a lack of worship, was it worth it? The glory of his people, the blood, the death… the murder… Faerûn would become another level of the hells. There had been madness in Sarevok's eyes. Madness of golden fire. A different madness to Imoen. Hers was the madness of a trapped wildcat, screeching and clawing at its confinement. What did his own look like?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What had his clone felt? What memories had it had? Why had that wingless girl smiled at him? Why was there such compassion? That shared… pain. It was as if he had been connected to his clone, if he reached down deep enough, he could feel… something. As if a piece of him had been taken, a spark of who he was. For the first time, he wept. The pain, soul wrenching loss, a deep, deep ache; a chasm, an abyss, so empty, the scars of murder upon his soul. Each death cut into him. Slowly, he was dying; they all were. They fed the essence, fed death, their own death. The more powerful they became…

In the glass jar, Irenicus' body floated, grim silence offering voice to his thoughts. He drew in a sharp, halting breath. Was this his fate? But he could not avoid their shared doom; none of them could. Imoen knew. They both knew. Slowly, his hand reached and grasped the nearest shard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't…

The shard fell from his fingers.

The gods be damned. He would destroy the tablets of fate.


	45. Doomed

XXXXV

Xan wondered which was more likely to hasten his doom. Escorting Cythandria to Athkatla with Kivan and two of Officer Vai's trusted men, with a message for the cowled wizards, or to head overland towards Nashkel as Sendai and Illasera were set upon. An ambush, for when Sarevok passed through. Tamoko would stay here, chained, and Aerie would remain with the human foundlings. Kivan should have gone with Sendai, but for whatever reason, she had asked the archer to protect _him_, Xan. As if it would make a difference. Viconia and Coran would aid Vai, and watch over Tamoko and Valen.

The waves crashed against the ship and the skies were insufferably cheerful. Drawing up his hood, Xan shielded his eyes from the sun's sparkling glint. This was a fool's errand. Ever since Sarevok Anchev had been elected Grand Duke, notably due to the other contenders being dead and his rallying words promising vengeance, the people of the Gate had flocked around him. Every able man and woman who could fight was being armed. Only the old and the young would remain. Utter madness!

Officer Vai had gone underground, forming a resistance group after her commander, Scar, had been slain. Many of the underprivileged in the city had been drafted or fled deep into the sewers, and the penalty for avoiding conscription was death. Even the temples had been emptied. With Cloakwood mine's iron, weapons and armour were being forced on a massive scale, and it seemed half the city had been industrialised. Ships were prepared, companies on the ground, and a call for mercenaries. Anchev raised his banner and offered amnesty to all bandits and criminals who joined. It seemed as if all the remaining bandits that had infested the roads had swarmed to his call, and Baldur's Gate had become an armed camp. Somehow, Vai had got the ship off before she disappeared. The harbour master had owed her a favour, she said. Xan expected he was swinging from the gibbet.

He sighed again, and raised his gaze to the distant horizon. Was those storm clouds? Probably. Surely their doom would come soon?

—

Somewhere out in the distant sea, a ship sailed. Skie shifted her weight from one foot to the other irritably. The dying sun had since slipped into the sea, and she was bored. Her new home in the catacombs were creepy, and even though there were books, it just wasn't enough.

"My fangs hurt." She commented to no one in particular. "I think I chipped my claw."

Nearby, Bodhi hissed.

"Mommy, I don't want to kill tonight. Will you bring me something?" Skie stretched and examined the catacomb wall.

"What did I tell you, little mousey?" Bodhi, catlike, edged nearer, venom in her smiling words.

Skie rolled her eyes. "When can I see Eldoth?"

Bodhi stopped, drawing herself up.

"I don't think mud suits my complexion... Are there any shops open at midnight?" Turning over her hand, Skie examined her claw. "Maybe it isn't chipped." Then she looked up into the older vampire's feral face. "You're not being very nice to me. Why'd you turn me if you didn't want me?"

Letting herself hunch forwards, Bodhi stalked off.

"You will teach me how to hunt, won't you, mommy?"

"Mistress, you little midden heap." Bodhi growled beneath her breath. "Valen was never this much trouble."

"I'm hungry." With a sigh, Skie flopped onto the damp floor and sighed. She missed the sunshine. And she missed her brother. The catacombs had become a prison, and the sunlight was her captor. She wasn't even sure what Bodhi was doing here, only that she was, and she was her only real companion, and she couldn't stray too far from her. Even her clothes were all grimy and bloody. It really wasn't fair.


	46. Homecoming

XXXXVI

Sendai was aware she was too calm, even for her. Her gaze hardened as she surveyed the ruins. And it was ruined. Looters had already tried to comb through the keep. There were signs of battle, skirmishes, and the bookshelves inside…

Illasera swore silently, and kept her back angled to her sister's, in case anyone thought to jump them. Sendai walked amongst the hall, her hand rising, then falling, as if to trace where the tomes had lain. Most of them were still in the hall, thrown upon the floor, trampled over.

Savages, she thought. Alaundo's statue at the entrance to the hall had been defaced. Her home had been defiled. Knowledge was power… this house was disgraced. Ascending the stairs, she wondered how her companions would react. Aerie would be shocked, horrified, and would probably have put her arm around her in that subtle, quiet way of hers. Xan, she expected, would grow quiet; she could see the tragedy written across his face, and Kivan would not say anything at all. Viconia might make some off-colour comment and Illasera would have to be held back. She wasn't sure what Coran would say, but he might surprise her. Tenya would probably demand if she cared at all.

Without really meaning to, her foots traced the familiar path back to her old room. Phlydia had had the cell beside hers, down one end of the floor and Gorion and most of the others were the opposite end. Entering her own had confirmed what she had suspected: the few things she had kept were gone. Illasera gripped her shoulder, and their eyes met. Nothing was said.

Wandering over to Gorion's room, she found that, too had been packed away. She had expected no less. She began to search the other rooms, starting with Tethtoril's. If anyone had secure Gorion's belongings, it would be him. Unfortunately, the looters had already got to Tethtoril's room, and many of the others had been ransacked. It seemed the personal belongings of the monks and scholars were the first things that were targeted. She sighed.

"There's nothing here." She allowed. "We should move on."

Illasera agreed without comment. It seemed doubtful that Sarevok's forces would stop here, but it would draw more looters. Was there anything to salvage, Sendai wondered, at least, that they could take. These halls had held the world's knowledge…

Saddened, sickened, the drow turned her back on the place that had been their home for so long. Perhaps one day, it could be rebuilt, but not today. It still made no sense. Why did Sarevok slay Gorion at all? Why had any of this happened?

Squeezing her shoulder mutely, Illasera gestured with her eyes towards the gatehouse. If they left now, they could still travel for a few hours before dusk set in. Even if Sarevok's host sent advanced scouts, it was best to keep from the coast; they had been raised on warnings of sirines luring sailors and those who wandered onto the beaches to their deaths. The woods had hungry wolves and worse, and the roads would soon be packed with refugees. The road was the best course. Without looking back, the two headed out of Candlekeep's gates a second time.


	47. Biting off more than she can

XXXXVII

With the night, Bodhi awoke. She had captured three looters, scrawny, scruffy, haggard types, but that was yesterday. Grudgingly, she had let Skie feed, in amongst the 'ews', and resistance towards drinking from 'live' prey. She had almost swiped her claws across the girl's throat, but having slaves to counter Sarevok's mirrorkin would be useful. Skie had finished drinking, hunger having overcome her, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and thanked her. It wasn't amusing the first time when the girl named her 'mommy'; her persistence grated.

Dancing from foot to foot, Bodhi looked down from her perch. The moon was out tonight. Up at the top of the tower allowed her to survey for miles, and she had caught the scent. Two of the Children had been here; she could almost taste them. Abazigal's soul inside her had left her with an awareness of the others. She could sense it in Sarevok, and once she had, she recognised the taste.

Glancing back, she zeroed in on the girl in the courtyard. Skie dipped her toes in the pool before the library's steps and kicked the ripples, admired the moon, and sighed at her lack of reflection. The little mouse would never survive alone. Bodhi didn't especially care, but she could prove a useful distraction. With a hiss, she half dropped, half leapt her way down, and landed in a crouch in front of the girl. Skie looked up with a smile of all things, not startled at all, and hummed happily to herself.

Bodhi hissed again, and shook her head. "Come, little mousey, we're leaving."

"But why?" Skie looked around. "It's so peaceful here." Then she made a face. "And boring."

The black clad creature didn't answer, but stalked after her prey. After a moment, Skie caught up.

"Don't go so fast." She complained, dawdling. "What's the hurry?"

Bodhi began to question the girl's usefulness against her own patience. Maybe she would leave her in the sun.

"The moon's so pretty tonight." A sigh, more wistful than long. "Are we going home now?"

She didn't answer.

"Please Mommy tell me where we're going?"

Stopping, Bodhi turned and bared her teeth in a smile. "Hunting, little mousey." She touched Skie's cheek with a long claw. "Now be a good little mousey and be quiet."

"You're really going to teach me?" Pathetically hopeful, Skie stared at her. "I'm so hungry."

An exasperated hiss. Dashing out of view, the vampire returned a few moments later with a small rabbit. "Eat this and shut up."

Staring at the creature thrust into her hands, Skie choked back a swallow. The rabbit was petrified with terror. "But he's so cute…"

Bodhi raised her arm, then let it fall. Stalking further into the underbrush muttering to herself, she wondered what she had possibly been thinking. She had done Sarevok a _favour_ in biting the little wretch, not disadvantaged him at all.

"May I keep him, Mommy?"

A violent hiss.

"I promise to take care of him. He's so sweet! Thank you, Mommy. You're the best. Daddy never let me keep anything before."

For once, Bodhi wished her hearing wasn't so sharp.

"I'm going to name you… what can I name you? What do you think, Mommy?"


	48. Once Summoned, Once Fallen

XXXXVIII

Valaris stood before the summoning circle. This madness was too far, even for Imoen, or so, he might have once thought. The cloning vats had been replicated, and somehow, the lack of an elder brain to spawn tadpoles, or so the tentacle-less illithid claimed was necessary, was no longer necessary. Twenty of them ringed the circle from afar, behind the wards, between the columns, and each was a copy of the one that had absorbed Irenicus' knowledge. They had formed some sort of strange mental link, and started projecting the knowledge directly into his mind, as they had done with Imoen's. The slave collars held them, but for how long, he wondered. Would they merge into some sort of elder brain? Was it even possible?

As he swept his silvery-grey flecked granite-green eyes across the domed chamber, he had to admit his doubt. One from the celestial planes would surely sense deceit, recognise the taint for what it was. Still…

He issued the summons, which was to say, Imoen's agents had captured one who could prepare such things, and the coercion of the illithid had not even been needed. Perhaps the fool thought to call for aid? It did not matter; the trap was set. As with so many things, Imoen had simply stolen Irenicus' network of contacts, and added it to her own. Now, he could have almost anything the markets of the Sword Coast, legitimate and less so, had to offer, and more besides. Here, in this cage, she gave him far more than he ever had otherwise. It was never enough.

The deva answered.

—

It had taken mere days, but the deva had broken, fallen, one might say. Valaris stood as his new servant knelt prostrate, still taller than him by a considerable amount. The illithid had proved most… useful. A nest of illithid. His reservations had died with her screams; she was an agent of fate, whether she knew it or not. His desire to return his people to their rightful place now seemed so… petty. So lacking. The Time of Troubles had begun with the Tablets of Fate being stolen, and the godswar had occurred because of that; the deva had revealed her knowledge of this. He had known fragments, but now he knew a little more, and it infuriated him. Mortals as pawns; his siblings destined to slay one another to raise their corrupt and depraved 'father' back to life at the expense of their own.

She was a being of lesser majesty, and yet, she was as nothing. Once she had surrendered her True Name to him, she was his pawn, just as mortals were the gods' pawns. She swore to serve him, and he had bound her to him. Inside, he felt the power within him surge, tearing at him, vying for control. Its hunger was almost unquenchable; murder's lust, its taint. He turned from it. He had had a cloning vat prepared, but it did not work: the deva could not be copied, but that was hardly a problem. She would gladly bear the spawn of his followers, though that would take decades, had any of his followers remained. The fey-ri and the rest were all gone, preparing to lay waste to Saradush. He had felt the sacrifice of two of his brothers in his name, felt his own strength increase.

He left, and she followed. He could sense her presence without needing to look; it was like the whispers of the slain. The shards of Sarevok's sword, of his own blade, remained where he had left them. Perhaps something could be done with them after all. Not a sword, forged afresh, but… closing his eyes, he reached within himself. The taint was there, waiting to devour him and any that it could. He fought it, grappled with it, and thrust it into the shards. The taint was ichor, sticky, tar-like, repulsive, and embracing; it spoke in whispers, in roars, offering promises, issuing demands. Its arrogance, its coercion, its manifestation in his dreams had overplayed its hand; he recognised and knew its voice, knew its lies for what they were. The shards became shadows, manifestations of the slain, spirit revenants, spectral wraiths.

Days later, Valaris had transformed the last of the shards. The pommel he kept as an ion stone.


	49. Ruins bring ruin

XXXXIX

Ulcaster was a ruin. The bookshelves had long since decayed, and there was little knowledge left in the ancient school. Sendai noted without comment as Illasera wrenched her arrows from the basilisk's eyes. The monster had taken up residence, wandering in from some nearby region or so they had thought until they had run across the mad gnome and his two 'pets'. Statues littered the former lawn, many of them beyond their means to save. Most were cracked, with fungi growing from the rain pitted stone. Sendai examined the few that weren't. The gnome had not lasted very long; Illasera's knife had blurred, rising to shield her eyes and the basilisks' gaze had reflected straight into the gnome's own. The gnome had laughed, but Illasera had two hands, and the second had thrown her arrow straight at him. His concentration had broken as it impaled him, and the two monsters turned upon him, and each other. Without waiting for an outcome, Illasera's bow had sung.

It was impossible, the drow reflected, to have used the basilisks against Sarevok's armies. The battle mages would have made swift work of them. Sendai's slender finger ran across the ring Aerie had given her all those days ago. Staring into the frozen faces in stone left her wondering.

"Well?" Her sister demanded. Her flat stare indicated the ruined stairwell the gnome had emerged from. Was there anything in the cellars worth searching? Sendai shook her head; the looters would have combed through the place, and who knew what else was lurking there? They had made good time getting to Ulcaster, and they had bypassed Beregost without incident. That in itself was a surprise. "You want to restore them." Illasera did not bother to disguise her disgust. "They won't help. They've nothing left to return to, and they'll be slaughtered."

"I know."

"What are you thinking?"

"Perhaps if we had more time, we could have created a number of golems."

"It wouldn't have worked."

Sendai lifted her silvery eyebrow slightly, then nodded. "True enough."

"I never took you for golemcraft."

She shrugged effortlessly. "It was just a thought."

Silence gripped them, and they turned to the north; to the west, the sun had begun its slow descent. Unconsciously, Sendai twisted the ring. Nashkel awaited.

—

"Korax huuuuungry."

The low moan came from deep below the ground, carrying up the stairs. Illasera set her teeth. She had already faced off against a wight who went by the name of 'Icharyd', and called itself the 'greatest of warriors'. The creature had been semi-entombed and clawed itself out of the ground, shunting past a fallen section of wall. Its flail had not stopped her knife, and the pommel had crushed Icharyd's shoulder, and then skull.

Sendai's wards flared, and there was a slow gurgle and the moans stopped.

Illasera's look was clear: they were not camping out around ruins again. Sendai deigned not to reply. Inwardly, the drow wondered why the wight had left the gnome alone, and then decided some questions were best left unanswered. Cross-legged, she returned to her reverie, her sister matching her pose, only, Illasera kept her bow across her lap.

—

"We're doing this wrong."

Again, Sendai rose an eyebrow. It was probably the most they'd spoken since they had lost Gorion.

"We should strike at the heart."

They both knew what she meant. Quietly, Sendai corrected, "We're not assassins."

The look Illasera fixed her was flat.

But. When 'Justice' had become the Grand Duke, what justice was left? The normal channels were cut off to them. Any number of responses entered the drow's mind. Illasera was right: they could not harry or hamper Sarevok's host. Golems, basilisks… it would not stop him. Why was he doing this? What motivated this revenge? Those words… 'Hand over your ward'. If it had never been about Gorion, had it been about her? Why had Gorion cared for her all this time? She who was a drow? Her unspoken assumption had always been something her parents had done, but she knew nothing of her parents. Nothing about any of this had ever made sense. Somehow, she had allowed herself and her begrudging sister to be dragged into the concerns of the Iron Crisis, and now Sarevok, the now Grand Duke, marched towards Amn and they were the only ones who were trying to warn Nashkel. Nashkel could not defend itself anyway; there was nothing there. The most they could do was send for reinforcements and flee south ahead of the host. Their homes would be fired, and they would lose what little they had left. Was it a fool's errand?

Illasera's silence said it all. She did not believe the villagers would abandon their homes, not after everything. There would be a slaughter and they were going in the wrong direction. They should infiltrate the human camp, and take their own justice.

But those in Nashkel deserved a choice.

The same choice that Candlekeep had? Illasera's cold eyes questioned.

Sendai shook her head slightly. They owed it to the villagers.

Did they?

Yes. They had rescued them from their plight, and–

And those ingrates had rewarded their efforts with nothing.

They offered what they had. Why was she even arguing? With herself, or with her sister? Sendai turned her thoughts: there was still Xan and Kivan.

Her sister's look never expected them to succeed.

Had she been wrong to abandon Aerie, to leave her with the children?

Children – which included Aerie, in Illasera's unspoken commentary – would only have slowed them down, and out here, they were easy pickings.

She should stop second-guessing herself. Illasera's silence concurred. Sendai's sigh was soft.

Before the dreams could return, they both felt it. A shadow, shifting against the night. The wards flared, and there was a sharp hiss. Illasera's arrow sang, but the shadow slipped past it. The magic rose up within Sendai, and there was a low laugh. Feral, predatory. It reeked of wrongness. It called to them, as if, somehow familiar within the unnatural stench of… death. Another arrow left Illasera's bow. The figure danced around the wards. Sendai closed her eyes. She could feel them being tested; in a few moments, they might be broken. This… creature would burst through.

Then it was gone.

Illasera shot her a look: no more ruins.


	50. An Alternative to Pumice

L

It was a disaster. Imoen shook her head. She wasn't entirely sure how she would break the news to Valaris. Maybe she would just show him. Gromnir, Gromnir, Gromnir… the four that made up his 'Five' had led a sortie, and somehow, scattered the besiegers. A number of ferocious skirmishes had occurred. The defenders had also dug a number of tunnels and appeared behind the elven lines, trapping them in a classic hammer and anvil. Imoen shook her head. She did not care much for strategy, but she remembered that particular manoeuvre. Of course, in her version, she preferred to occupy her mark's attention with the 'hammer' and the 'anvil', and move in unnoticed.

Valaris' forces had not gone down easily, she noted, squinting. Pockets of them remained and fought to their last. Those that escaped would be hunted down, or go down hunting. She shrugged. The maelstrom served her purposes. Kuran the Black had fallen during the first foray, but Berena Elkhan avenged his loss. Valaris' pet fey-ri and his pretty pale elf had faced down Elar Had and Asmay Jahag, but neither Bhaalspawn had joined in the battle, instead sending their own minions to their death. Surprisingly, the fey-ri kensai had carved a path through the anvil; or was it the hammer? Imoen shrugged. The pretty elfling wasn't quite so fortunate, but Imoen didn't have time to step in and save _everyone_. Instead, she watched while Gromnir barred the gates on his own generals. That really was quite something. His orders were to destroy the last of the Bhaalspawn, and off they went. Berena and Asmay turned on each other as soon as Valaris' host was routed, but neither had been quite able to finish off the other.

Imoen, of course, had much more important matters to attend to. In the town of Trademeet, her network of agents had finally tracked down the elusive Viekang, and she had chosen that particular moment to finally pay a visit to him. It hadn't lasted very long; there was a lot of pleading, after his initial shrieking and him trying to escape through that ridiculously irritating teleporting of his, but Imoen was prepared. She wasn't known as 'Imoen the Quick, the Shadow of the East, the Knife of the West' for nothing. Viekang never even saw her coming, which is exactly what her invisibility should have done, and she snapped the slave collar around his neck before he even realised what had happened, and then she had pulled him through her impromptu portal of her own.

Now Viekang was interred in her pet illithid's care, she wondered if she was going soft. Viekang would never make a good thrall, and she didn't really want him as one, and leaving him alive was rather counterproductive to their plans to seize Daddy's throne. It was for precisely that reason that she _hadn't_ killed him, but she kept him confined, for now. She could always kill him later. Mostly, she wanted to study the strange ability he had developed, or so she had indicated to her pet. It gave the illithid something to do, and with Irenicus' mind, it would prove interesting to see how differently her pet functioned. Not that she really cared.

Back in her enclave, she found Valaris more broody than usual. Greeting him with a kiss, quick, then slow, she pulled his eyes toward hers with a flash of her dimples. The distance he stared into could not be more interesting than her, but it seemed to captive him each and every time. She would have to do something about that at some point, she scowled inwardly to herself. How could she let it steal him when she was the thief? She planted her lips squarely against his and pressed her weight forwards. Her fingers raked through his hair, drawing across his temples and she pushed herself into his cross-legged lap. His own pet deva hovered somewhere near by, but she barely paid any attention to it; whatever was he doing with a celestial anyway? Former celestial. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles crossing. Finally, she had his attention.

"I've got some good news and bad news, Vally."

He should have protested at her use of his name. His eyes revealed little, but locked on hers.

She sighed, then leaning forwards, rested her elbows on his shoulders, her wrists crossing behind his head. Maybe if she transferred her soul into the body of a cloned elf he might find her more appealing? It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once. She rocked a little.

He waited.

"Guess you already know, huh?"

He stiffened; she pulled his head down and held him close to her heart. Her lips brushed his hair.

The illithid; it had to be them. Unless he had gained the ability to see events as they unfolded? Or it was all those pacts he had made crushing against him. Of course he would have felt it; she really was silly sometimes, she sighed inwardly. Lifting his chin, she pressed a long, soft kiss against him. He didn't shake her off.

"Kuran 'The Black's' dead." Imoen commented offhandedly. "Had and Jahag didn't dare face her."

Now he did move; Imoen let her weight pin him. His hands rose; she caught his elbows and pulled them around her.

"Don't pretend you're not happy to see little ole me." Tilting her head, she added, "I know you're upset, but I'm here for you, and I brought you back a gift. Brought us back."

He studied her.

"Viekang. I caught him."

"You killed him?"

Slight hesitation; then a quick headshake. "Nope. He's all locked up."

Valaris nodded slowly.

"Hey, don't you go thinking I've gone soft or nothing. I ain't. Figured we could use him as bait or something."

The elf didn't answer.

"Hey…" She set her thumbs under his chin and lifted. "It isn't over."

"No," he agreed, "it isn't."

A shiver ran through her; his thumbs pressed into her back, his arms tightening. Her thighs squeezed, and for a moment, she wasn't entirely sure what he would do. Then he pushed her onto her back, and her hands forced his head down for a kiss; she could feel the heat, their shared closeness. In his eyes, she saw herself, and mirroed back, she watched as from his knees, he rose to his feet, and the moment faded. Staring up at him from the floor, he filled her vision and then his departing footsteps grew smaller. Relief and an odd pang of disappointment ran through her. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the deva and rolled her eyes internally.

A few moments later, Morul, Larz and Nara entered. Larz had reports for her, and she shooed him out, while Nara prepared her for her bath. A bath was just the thing she needed, and Morul she issued various tasks to. The young man kept his eyes anywhere and everywhere but on her, but couldn't help but be drawn back to her. It was either the multitude of scars, or it was something else. Imoen rolled her eyes again, while Nara bowed slightly. She caught the girl's chin, and looked into her eyes. The elven linage was faint, but there. The girl waited, almost as if she expected to be struck; Imoen frowned, then shrugged, and lounged in the fluffy, warm towels. A girl was allowed a few indulgences.

"Where is he?"

"Mistress?"

"Valaris."

Morul's eyes darted in every direction at once.

"I can find him, mistress." Nara spoke softly.

Imoen shook her head, then shrugged. She stepped into the pool, letting the girl take the towel. Her scars itched. They didn't itch exactly, but she was aware of them, and that was almost as bad as itching. The calm waters shimmered, and her sigh was not one of contentment.

"I'll fetch him?"

"Leave him be." Imoen decided, then ran her eye along Nara, and past her to Morul. "And stop gawking. Climb in or get out."

He turned bright red.

Nara slowly began to disrobe.

"On second thought, get out."

Both of them bowed their heads.

"Wait an hour. I'll want my back scrubbed."

They both retreated, and once they were gone, Imoen laid back and loosed a long breath. Valaris' reaction had not been… good. Even for him. She might have to cut him loose soon. She knew that look. But Sarevok was still on the loose. If he didn't want to play bout three with their golden eyed brother, he'd chase after their two sisters, or worse: Gromnir. Assuming he didn't try and rescue his fey-ri. Irritably, she kicked her heel in the waters; why was he so hard to deal with? Maybe she should just give Nara to him and be done with it. The thought didn't bother her, but for some reason, she wasn't altogether sure she would get Nara back. She had half a mind to call him in, but he needed his space. Wretched broody elves.

Instead, she sent a mental command to her pet; she could use a neck massage and since he couldn't suck out her brains, she would put his talents to other us. One of the clone-pets could take over guarding Viekang.

It did not take long for the illithid to arrive; a few months ago, her skin would have crawled at the very notion of this, but now she didn't care. Long, slender, claw-like fingers and four stubbed tentacles worked against the back of her neck and head as she floated belly-up. It wasn't Nara's place to be offended, but it was hard not to when she was outclassed by the extra appendages. With a groan, Imoen allowed herself to be hauled out of the water and the slave collar slapped firmly around her pet's neck, she allowed its tentacles to regenerate fully from the borrowed earring she wore. At full length, they were longer than she was tall, and her androgynous pet was degraded to becoming her masseuse. The best part was she didn't need to say anything; it read her thoughts and moved accordingly. Valaris, she decided, could do with similar treatment. It was torture for her pet not to dine on her, but she didn't care; if she could hold off on murdering it, it could hold off on eating her brains, and focus on grinding the knots from the soles of her feet. Well, what was the use of power if she didn't use it to make life better for herself and those she favoured? That was what being a goddess was all about, so she had best get used to it.

The illithid snorted.

"I heard that." She swatted at it absently. Then her thoughts returned to her other problems: family.


End file.
